The slow, smokey burn hit the back of his throat and filled his lungs.
Deeper, deeeepppperrr, deeeeeeeepppppeeerrr…
He loved the feeling of getting stoned, and this was the smoothest grass he’d ever had.
He was disappointed that it was lightning outside. He would have loved to run his toes through the dirt and feel the rain on his head.
He was getting emotional, which always happened before the pillow of fucked-upness smacked him square in the face.
He decided to turn off the lights and listen to some Roger Waters, while watching the lightning outside.
He knew there was cold pizza in the fridge, and knowing that made him hungry.
Instead, he thought he’d see how long he could go before he succumbed to the siren call of the Italian pie.
He opened the windows to get some fresh air, and turned up the volume just a little bit.
It was the perfect Wednesday evening.