A load of margon

Last year, a friend and I went to a hookah bar on 12th St. and 1st Ave. I was feeling a little down and wanted to get off campus, so I figured a little Turkish wine and hashish couldn’t hurt. Little did I know that the combination would prove deadly. I still don’t know if it was the wine or the hookah or both. Eventually, my friend spent the rest of his evening barfing out two cabs onto the highway. and I spent the next day with my face pressed into a plastic garbage bag, gagging up my entire insides until the only thing left was dry spit. To this day, I prefer cigarettes over hookah. At least cigarette smoke doesn’t have the sickly sweetness that makes me want to heave.