"Ahhh," Amy sighs. The plume of weed mushrooming from her languid, luscious lips. Imported from Canada, where the stuff's legal now.
"So, Sonic," she says with a delectable pout and wink, as she fluffs back her pink dyed hair. "What's your deepest, darkest fantasy?"
I think about this long and hard, while I take a deep drag of my own joint.
"A billion rings," I say, "No. Two billion. Three billion. Ten billion hard, gold rings."
Shakes her head left and right with a giggle, messing up her hair again. "Aw! Sexually, I mean."
I shrug, take another puff. "Ten billion rings, bae. Ten billion rings."
"Well." Amy sits up, tosses the burnt end of the blunt into the ashtray. Begins to wrap herself a fresh one. "My fantasy is to fuck your dead, rotting corpse in a rubber mask with Tails's face on it in a neon blue wig."
"If I don't beat you to it," I snort. And Amy giggles, her face flushing red.
Gotta love my Ames.