Two time-traveling agents from warring futures, working their way through the past, begin to exchange …
After she's gone, the seeker, dressed as help, armed with dustpin and brush, collects the remnants, gathers them like rosebuds. When she is out of sight, she cuts the mix of clay and bone and leaf into three tidy lines, tightly rolls up a bank note, and inhales sharply enough to feel smoke behind her eyes.
— This Is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar, Max Gladstone (Page 58)
Cocaine is for cowards, real gangsters snort teapot clay.