Just Because You’re Unemployed Doesn’t Mean You’re a Ronin
Philadelphia, Present Day
Hunter sat slumped in his usual gully riven deep in the couch. Red bong in one hand remote in the other. A cigarette stem clenched in his teeth with a 100 cigarette stuffed in the end. He stared dead eyed at a blank television screen. About forty five minutes prior he had eaten about six dried grams of the mushroom; psilocybe cubensis.
“Did I get burnt again?” he grumbled, “No honor out there anymore.”
He brushed away an empty paper plate revealing a Demons and Demiurges player’s manual. He picked it up and idly leafed through it stopping every now and then to sigh and examine an illustration. He landed on a picture of a samurai. The samurai was standing, facing off against a group of thugs accosting a young maiden. As he studied the lines of the illustration the samurai lurched. Hunter jumped, but remembered the mushrooms.