Sincerely

Cincere

I've been smoking weed since I was 14. I wish I could've started earlier, cause God knows I could've used the biggest blunt I could find when I was 9. But weed back at home was not easy to come by.  And in San Fransisco, you see at least 3 drug deals a day if you pay attention. I've never done anything more than weed, and I never will. I've tried pretty much every color in the rainbow when it comes to weed. Edibles, bowls, bongs, pens, blunts, you name it. I always have my fix on me, it's like therapy you can ingest.

There's something peaceful about being high. Something euphoric. Everything is funny as shit, everything tastes better, every color looks brighter, and you don't get mad as often. Weed is something that get's me through my day. Weed is my best bud.  And when I don't have any, I get a bit cranky you could say.

Just a bit.

It's only been 3 hours since I smoked the last of my weed, and Reggie doesn't get off of work until 9. It's 7:30 right now and feeling my clothes touch my skin is making me want to rip skin apart. I tap my foot against the wall and stare at my room, feeling my blood rush to my ears.

"Cincere, now why are you hanging off of your bed like that?" My aunt asks, looking at me with concern but also amusement. Or maybe just concern, I don't know man, her face is upside down.

"You could die like that you know. If you stay like that for too long." She leans against the wall.

"I'm fully aware of that, thank you." I groan. My head was starting to spin.

She walks in my room, which is easy since I don't have a door, just curtains that give me a sheer amount of privacy since they're see through. I could get other ones but I always forget to. Luxury in living in a loft. Hardly any doors. Yippie.

She stares at me for a while then smiles, "You ran out of weed, huh?"

I groan in response. She chuckles and moves a hoodie off of my chair and sits down in it. "You'll live. Come help me make dinner, distract yourself."

I close my eyes and focus on my fingers getting cold and and my head getting heavier.

I sigh, "Can you help me up?"

My aunt gets up and lifts me up from my shoulders slowly. Once I'm upright my body flushes with warmth, all of my blood going back to the right places. I stand up and stretch.

"Thanks, Oda. What's for dinner?" I ask, slightly irritated that I have to eat and then get my fix.

Oda walks out of the room and I follow her down the hall to the kitchen, "Just pork chops and potatoes."

"Could we make it like, after 9? Maybe?"  I ask, already knowing what the answer was going to be.

She chuckles and looks at me, "Any time after 9 is too late to eat dinner, you have school in the morning."

Well it was worth a shot. I sigh and lean against the counter, "Alright, you're the boss."

I mean that literally, she's my literal boss at the dinner she owns, The O-Zone. It's kinda weird to live with your boss, since every time I close sloppily I get a lecture in the morning. But eating the bomb ass breakfast there on the house during the weekends, there's nothing like it. There's no debate on who makes the best pancakes and hash browns in San Fransisco.

Oda tosses me a potato, "Start cutting these up, not too thin."

I catch it and grab a cutting board, "You wanna throw me the knife too?"

Oda rolls her eyes and starts prepping the pork chops, slicing the meat so flawlessly it's almost scary. I want to make a stupid "Guess having knife skills runs in the family" joke, but I'm not that high. I'm not high at all. Fuck don't remind me.