(this is a great book)
"An old chinaman -- he must have been sixty -- shuffled by me hastily with a hop layout and spread it out in a nearby bunk. He was shaking with the yen-yen, the hop habit. His withered, claw-like hands trembled as he feverishly rolled the first pill, a large one. His burning eyes devoured it. Half-cooked, he stuck the pill in its place, and turning his pipe to the lamp, greedily sucked the smoke into his lungs. Now, with a long grateful exhalation, the smoke is discharged. The cramped limbs relax and straighten out. The smoker heaves a sigh of satisfaction, and the hands, no longer trembling, turn with surer touch to another pill. This is smaller, rolled and shaped with more care, better-cooked and inhaled with a slow, long draw. Each succeeding pill is smaller, more carefully browned over the lamp and smoked with increasing pleasure."
- JB, You Can't Win