Secreting pools of murk out your eyes, you look down at your coffee table and slowly stretch out to grip that mieksneak. cassette laying on the cluttered top. Rising to your feet, you pick up the tape, walk over to your deck, and pop it in. You hit play, then allow W/CODEINE (RED TAPE) to melt all around you. Slack beats tumble in and out of slews of midnight samples and tape hiss. The room settles into itself. The dim spread of lamplight saturates your living room, and your night unfolds into one of those surreal stories you couldn’t describe if you tried. Sort of like a dream; a dream soaked in nods.
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