my neighbor across the hall

I always know when my neighbor across the hall is home because the smell of weed reeks out into the hallway. She favors a pungent blend. I can picture it, dense buds, moist and carrying with them the scent of Hawaii or Thailand. Once I was downstairs at Andy's and I could smell it in his place. Thanks to the vagaries of construction, the odor doesn't infiltrate my unit.

Last week her dealer must've been busted or out of town or God knows what because the smell emanating from her place was what we used to call skunk weed, because it smelled, well, a little like a skunk. Is there still such a thing as skunk weed?

Just now, 6:16 am by my clock, I awoke to sounds in my apartment. The conversation seemed to be taking place in the other room, only there is no other room. Beyond my thumbnail sized studio there is only the apartment across from, behind, above, beside or below me. The noise was not loud enough to complain, but eventually I became curious as to where it was coming from, so I got out of bed and opened the door.

It was a shocker to discover the conversation was coming from my neighbor's across the hall. Mostly because, for the first time I can recall, she was in there and there was not even the lingering odor of marijuana. I just hope the poor lass hasn't had to move on to cocaine in desperation. It sucks to lose a dealer, but you shouldn't give up on your favorite drug so easily.