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Ewan

The second thing they do upon moving in is root around inside the dropped ceiling. It’s not as good as last year’s porn and stuffed animals, but they do find a pair of socks, three envelopes and a bong: yellow rubber tubing, different lengths, some duct-taped to a couple of spigoted Erlenmyer flasks. Chem lab merchandise.

“That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever seen,” says Tybalt, in awe.

Ewan’s never seen anything quite like it, but he feels nostalgic anyway. The bong is like a determined holdover from tenth grade, a dinosaur, determined to exist even with head shops down the street.

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