Nick, his stud of a roommate and the source of his transformation, examined the new Billy with a mix of awestruck surprise and rampant excitment. "Dude," he said, out of breath, "this is fuckin' sweet. You might wanna think about giving it a rest on the black stogies now, though."

"Fo' sho'," Billy said. The words, the vocal inflection--it all felt so natural now. Like he was born with it.

"We gotta get you some new shit, though, man," Nick said, rushing to get himself dressed. Chess club t-shirts and busted old sneakers wouldn't look right on the body of a nubian adonis.

The guys left their dorm and made their way downtown. In the interim, Billy dressed himself in a wife beater and some mesh shorts he borrowed from Nick. But he knew that wouldn't do. Since Nick, in addition to being drop dead gorgeous and horny as a mountain goat, was apparently loaded, Billy's roommate graciously offered to take care of whatever new stuff he wanted.

As they neared the shopping district, a thought crossed Nick's mind. "Yo man," he said, "are you sure Billy's the right name for you? I mean, I don't know many fuckin' thugs named Billy." Then again, he didn't know many fuckin' thugs.

"For real, yo. I've been thinking about that too...what about DeShaun?"

Nick pondered it, and smiled, shaking his head up and down. "Yeah man, DeShaun, fuck yeah," he said, slapping DeShaun's hand forcefully. They made their way to a store that specialized in urban clothing, and something in the new programming of DeShaun's mind told him exactly what to get.

An hour and about a thousand bucks later, DeShaun walked away with piles of clothes, shoes and other accessories. Basketball jerseys, fitted caps, do rags, Timberlands--you name it, he bought it. He couldn't wait to get home to change and really absorb himself in his new life.

On the way, the guys decided to stop by the house and show the rest of the cigar boys how Billy had become DeShaun. Most of the guys were there, smoking on the brown, non-magic cigars. When Nick walked in, Travis immediately asked him who his new friend was.

"Yo, man, this G used to be Billy. Dudes, meet DeShaun." The guys were stunned. They, too, had never seen anyone completely change race from the magic stogies. They were about as excited as Nick had been. DeShaun took the opportunity to change while he was there, ditching his temporary threads for a more traditional urban look. Everything matched perfectly. Red fitted cap with a dead flat brim, black do rag underneath, oversized red t-shirt with a platinum chain hanging down below the mountains of his new pecs. Dark, hugely baggy jeans hung right above his crotch, and the outfit topped off with pristine new Timberlands. Now this felt right.

Once he had changed his clothes, he returned to the main room and a thought occured to him: why just smoke tobacco when you can use cigars for so much more? "Yo man," he said to Nick, "y'all got any weed up in here?"

Nick laughed. "Yeah, dude," he said as he reached into the very back of a drawer and pulled out a bag of about two ounces. "Enjoy, bro."

Like he had done it a thousand times before, DeShaun took one of the brown cigars and cut it lengthwise, spilling out most of the tobacco and leaving only the wrapper. He took the weed and filled the wrapper, licked it and closed it shut. He then took a lighter, lit it, and inhaled.

Within minutes, his head was swimming. Though his mind may have been used to the idea of getting high by virtue of its new programming, his body certainly wasn't. All the same, he smoked the blunt all the way to its end, and within a half hour he was toasted.

DeShaun and Nick spent most of the rest of the at the cigar house before taking all of their wares home and passing out for the night.

Just before he fell asleep, clad in nothing but white boxers that proved a stark contrast to his dark skin, DeShaun thought to himself, "Yo, we got all these boys up in this dorm...wonder if they ever smoked before." •