Crackpipe Wizardry

I've spent the last four days of my Wizard hunt relaxing at an immaculate old 5 bedroom mansion about an hour outside of Montreal, QC.
I've been getting three-wine-bottle-deep drunk every night, eating more food every day than I normally take in in a week, and just generally readying myself for the last leg of my travels across the country.

Doing nothing, so I'm ready for anything.

This mansion hasn't been quiet, however, and has seen more overnight guests than Lindsay Lohan's last visit to the local WMCA. It's been great. I've had huge steak dinners with drug dealers, drank fresh orange juice with retired sports heroes, and I was even taught how to roll a one-handed joint by a thalidomide baby. And I think, just maybe, that the Wizard himself may have even stopped by for a visit.

It was 3 nights ago, around 10:45pm, when there was a knock on the door. I answered it, expecting it to be the local police wanting to know why there seemed to be a steady stream of new people coming in every 15 minutes and leaving shortly afterwards, but instead it was an older gentleman and his young lady friend, carrying dessert for a dinner they were, if they had been invited, 3 hours late for.

They came in, we had drinks, we had tea, we had conversations. I asked the 72 year old, grey haired man about the coin, and he shook the question off, almost as if he were hiding something. He had an odd look about him. He looked very much so like a Wizard would look, if a Wizard was going out for a casual night of dinner-hopping with a younger lady-friend. We had dessert, we had more drinks, and we had some pot, though we had no way of smoking it.
Within 30 seconds flat the grey-haired man got up, went into the kitchen, rustled through some things, and came back with a tinfoil pipe, which, I admit, made him seem a lot more like a crackhead than a Wizard, though I was impressed.

Solid one piece construction. Totally to crack-code.

After the old man had come and gone I spent a solid half hour trying to recreate his pipe. I couldn't do it. His was flawless, while mine was totally full of flaws, including its main flaw of 'not actually working at all'.

I started to think back on our conversation and all the Wizard-like clues I may have missed, including the fact that at one point he was totally walking around with a wand, pretending to zap plants, while talking absolute gibberish. (In his defense, I was pretty drunk, and his 'gibberish' could have been french.)

Old man: "Voulez-vous couche avec moi, se-soir?"
Me: Utter look of terror.

Wizard or no wizard, crackhead, or regular old man that carries around a wand, I realize now that it was nearly infinite times more likely that the old man was a Wizard rather than a crackhead, if simply for the fact that I don't think I've ever heard of a crackhead living past the age of 28.