Chevy Avalanche, with slate gray paint and silver leather seats, idles in a far corner of the parking lot. Two years out of school, he isn't really supposed to be here. But he generally comes running when I call. He likes what I give him.
I like what he gives me, too, and I'm mostly talking about the bud. I pick up my Pace because right under his front seat I know there's a fat, stinky joint with my name on it.
Okay, Mike's name is there too. It's his dope, after all. But he's always happy to share. Of course, he expects compensation, and after smoking a big ol doobie I'm generally willing to cooperate.
Life has gotten better or at least more bearable since I was introduced to my good friend, marijuana. You couldn't have a more decent friend. I love everything about it.
I love the way it smells good green bud, anyway, and that's the only kind Mike gets. I guess his brother knows a Humboldt grower. Okay, the pot smells a lot like skunk juice. But somehow, there's a difference. A good one.
I love the way to stick smoke taste, curling across my tongue, snacking down my throat. I love holding it in, coughing it out, I love head rushes, The creeping worms that follows.
And I love the distant place it takes me too. Everything feels right there. Mellow. Easy. Stress-free. I even love the munchies, the perfect excuse for devouring a pint of häagen Dazs. Of course, afterwards I have to go stick my finger down my throat. Don't dare get fat. Daddy will not like that.
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Identical
PoetryI dont own this book and i dont own the characters. Kaeleigh and Raeanne are identical down to the dimple. As daughters of a district court judge father and a politician mother, they are an all American family on the surface. Behind the facade each...
