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She could wait to put the groceries away. The room was already ice cold.
Nothing would start to melt until later in the summer, she figured. Instead, she plopped herself down on the couch
and caught her breath. She spotted the bong beneath the coffee table almost immediately. Not much else had been
unpacked yet. Yes, Kim knew her priorities.
"What the heck," she said. "It's Friday and I need to relax a bit." Pot, like coffee and over-priced
t-shirts, could be found on almost every corner of the Haight. A definite plus of the neighborhood. One of few,
she was finding.
Within minutes she felt significantly more relaxed. That is, until the doorbell downstairs rang. "Who the
hell can that be?" she said, as she walked over to the intercom.
"Hello?" she yelled into the box.
"Police," came the reply.
"Fuck," she whispered before answering. "Be right down."
Now, normally, Kim wouldn't have been so rattled by learning that the police where downstairs. Inquisitive, yes.
Scared, no way. But normally she wasn't stoned when greeting the long arm of the law. "What if they want to
come up here for something?" she said to herself, as she stared at the still fuming bong. "Fuck,"
she reiterated, and then opened all the windows in the living room. Then she looked for a place to hide the bong.
A place they wouldn't think of looking, just in case the odor lingered. But most of what she saw was still unopened
boxes. And that's when she spotted it: a slight hole in between two of the floorboards. A gap just big enough for
a finger. In desperation, she fit her index finger in and gave a quick yank. Lo and behold, the slat came up and
off. With little time to think how strange that was, she placed the bong beneath the floor and ran downstairs.
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