”Hey dude, you from the States?” Neal inquired.
“Yeah man, I’m from San Francisco. My name is John. Where are you guys from?”
“John, I’m Mort and this is Neal. We’re from from upstate New York. Where did you get that awesome Arab robe?” I asked.
John, a classic American hippie, was tall, blonde, skinny and stoned. The odor of hashish permeated his body–a smell our noses knew only too well. He was dressed in a hooded blue and white Arab robe that swept the station’s cement floor.
In one long run-on sentence, John wowed us with tales of Moroccan days and nights. “Man you got to go, the Moroccans are really nice folks, man dope is real cheap, it’s the best hash you’ll ever taste, man food is real cheap, in Tangiers you’ll blow your brains out, you won’t ever want to leave the place, it’s far-fucking out.”