“What’s that smell?” Ace Ventura inhales the sharp scent and shields his eyes from the smoke cloud of purple haze surrounding Jimi Hendrix as he enters the elevator.

“Want to hit this, man?” Jimi Hendrix exhales smoke out of his nose like a dragon.

“All righty, then.”

The elevator doors open with a chime. Marla Singer stomps into the elevator, puffing cigarette smoke from her mouth like an exhaust pipe while balancing a large pile of clothes in the crook of her arm. “You are the worst thing that has ever happened to me,” she says to a young man in the hallway as the doors shut on her face.

“Foxy lady.” Jimi growls with approval at Marla. “Here I come.”

Marla takes another drag off of her cigarette and aims it at Jimi’s face. “Lay off the insignificant attempts, sweetheart. Is this just another one of those ‘cry for help things’?”

“You know…you can poke somebody’s eye out with that thing!” says Ace. “And did you know that gingivitis is the number one cause of all tooth decay?”

Marla raises her eyebrow at the supposed pet detective. “Candy stripe a cancer ward, it’s not my problem.”

“I got a pet monkey called Charlie Chan.” Jimi nods his head looking for approval.

Marla stares blankly at Jimi. “You have deep-seated emotional problems for which you should seek professional help.” The metal doors open with a chime and the smoke withheld inside the compartment gushes out of the new escape route. Marla Singer rapidly disappears into the main lobby of the building.

“I’ve never seen them act like that before. Denial can be an ugly thing. Thanks for the hit, man.” Ace Ventura slides his sunglasses off his forehead and onto his eyes. “Le-hew. Ze-her.”

Jimi laughs to himself as he takes another drag from his joint. “Take care of yourselves, I know I will.” He waves goodbye with swelled half-shut eyes.