Chapter Four
I smoke too much pot
I smoke too much pot.
You would too.
It’s Jill and Jackie’s fault, really. My share of the rent, for which I receive use
of the aforementioned small couch and laptop, fridge space, toilet and shower privileges
and the occasional home-cooked meal; is that I obtain (read steal) pot, groceries,
beer, and delivery food. Anyway, it
helps with all the time travel bullshit I have to deal with every damn day. For a few moments I have glorious peace. I would be a fraction of a second for you,
but for me, it’s a long time. My system
processes it super-fast, but still, those moments are worth it. Peace.
Clarity. Vision. Calmness.
The madness fades just a little bit.
The guilt gnaws just a little less, and for that moment, mere Planck
units long, I’m just me. The fog clears
and I see things clearly.
I’m always trying to retain that feeling. So, I smoke a lot of pot. Good stuff.
I rob from every dealer and dispensary, anywhere in the world, at anytime
I like. I get it all. Platinum Girl
Scout Cookies. Trainwreck, Alaskan Thunderfuck,
Pineapple Express, Cherry Pie, Tardis, Jelly Sherbert, Durbin Poison, OG Master
Kush. You get the idea.
So, there’s that.
(c) Copyright 2019 Diana Hignutt
No comments:
Post a Comment