Word: dennings
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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Proudly, I called my wife into the den. What, she asked, did I intend to do about all the wires? True, five sets now ran from the thin DVD receiver to speakers flanking the TV, then cascaded across the floor to other speakers behind the couch and to the big subwoofer that sat like a hound in the center of the floor. I made a suggestion. "Drill holes in the bookcases?" repeated my wife. Then she said it again, emphasizing different words. Then she left the room, chuckling in a way that scared...
...many times this week had he gone to see the dragon? Five? Six? Ten? Fitz had lost count. But he reckoned he went to the den almost every night and paid Ton, the scraggly opium dealer with a green-and-blue dragon tattooed on his thin upper arm, 50 per pipe to get him off. He lay there, watching the dragon coil and uncoil as Ton flexed his arms, working to heat the night-colored opium, mixing the paste with Mr. Headache powder and then rolling it between his palms into cylinders. He broke off pieces from the roll...
...Across the street from the village chief's wood-frame house, however, in a little bar where two Vietnamese men sit drinking bottled Bia Lao beer, smoking A-daeng cigarettes and spitting onto the concrete floor, there is plenty of opium. Several foreigners are already in the back-room den, crashed out on dank mattresses having puffed their way through half a dozen pipes each. Sophie, a blond English girl in her 20s, insists the black-trousered O-man, as she calls the Vietnamese boy loading pipes, give her and her friends the best possible dope. "Make sure...
...colonial era and then the cold war years of colonialism by proxy, successive generations have increasingly seen the drug as a vestigial tradition, as antiquated as foot binding or entrail reading. The Cultural Revolution obliterated mainland China's opium scene. Hong Kong's last opium den shut down in the '70s, and even famously dissolute Bangkok is reportedly bereft of a working opium den, the pipes consigned to antique stalls at the Saturday flea markets. The fast-lane kids of Asia's supercities prefer to get their kicks smoking speed or swallowing Es. Opium is grandpa's drug...
...sauntered down to the water, our fair figures hardly discernable from the surrounding sands. Splashing about in the ocean, I did my best to keep my body hidden beneath the surface. Later, we adjourned to the shore, weary from our frolicking. Like children building a fort in the family den, we huddled beneath a damp towel and looked out at the Pamela Andersons and David Hasselhoffs of the world. Like vampires, we sucked our Pepsi contentedly from our lair and cautiously applied a second layer of Coppertone. I felt compelled to shout out something in a British accent...