As someone who savors his precious reading time and usually spends that time venturing into weightier fare, it would be dishonest of me to say I didn't genuinely enjoy this slim volume of stoner crime fluff.
That's not to say this is outright fantasy, but rather that the passage of time may have skewed the intricacies of reality, while Nomad's flotation within a constant smoky haze just might have affected his original perceptions of how things went down. There certainly seems to be a penchant for exaggeration here but, indeed, that tends to make the dubious details all the more entertaining.
The author's sometimes subtle and irreverent sense of humor and his displays of empathy and kindness toward wayward characters are refreshing. But the proliferation of misogynistic comments throughout is indicative of a less-enlightened, Seventies mentality and comes across as clueless in this age of #MeToo. The book's final story tells how our antihero's life is saved by advice from a psychic's dream. It's an apropos finale to this unabashed guilty pleasure of a read.