Alp. Jesus. I didn’t know whether to put it in my lip or offer it to the universe as tribute. A sleek little bastard—white, clean, almost surgical. No spitting, no coughing, no devilish burn of combustible sins. Just a slow, creeping buzz like a freight train in the fog, whispering: “You’re okay, friend. You’re in control now.”
This isn’t your truck-stop chew or that minty garbage corporate goons peddle on late-night TV. No, Alp is engineered for the functional fiend. The flavor? Cool. Controll...