Amaury understood that the man didn't understand him well. Or, at least, he'd caught onto it halfway through his speech. 'Gonna have ta slow it down for dis one, ja?' he thought to himself, flicking ash onto the floor, tired of leaning over to the fire pit. He laughed again as the older man confused his words again. 'No. My ma name me Amaury. My Fa call me de Jong, yeah?' he tried again. 'Man, I dunno how you can go for long without dagga, dope' he said, trying to speak slower and plainer. 'Long time bad, ja?' he prompted. Amaury's mind was fogged happily with the dagga, and he slumped down onto his large sleeping bag with a sigh, turning his head to keep and eye on Machi lazily.
'Put that anywhere, you welcome to stay. Here' He said, pointing the the ground. Amaury helped tug the wrap away silently, and leant back down, continuing the conversation. His mind dimly understood the Arabic 'thanks' from his time in Northern Africa while he waited for a boat to America. He'd needed supplies after all. Though he'd never run out of joints. He'd kept a huge supply and then traded for more in Freetown. In fact he was surprised at how well he'd fared. Stretching out with a yawn, Amaury spoke again, 'Yeah. Thanks' he said, speaking in English to the Egyptians reply. 'Whatcha come here for then?'
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