I'm searching through my philosophy books to make connections that I can later use as a defense of my "arrest" on charges of cannabis. Really, the fictional aspect of this whole deal involves a lot of actual research on the nonfiction accounts. That's why I asked for Adam's help. I'd ask Eric as well, but he's off in San Marcos and that's too much for me to even fathom. Besides, he has his life now and I wouldn't want to bother him too much. At least Adam's well read on the subject rather than talking out his ass like some other people I've met along the way - Ron Paul supporters will be left nameless.
At Adam's, El Senor fell in love with the clear purple-ringed bong that was left sitting on the table. It's apparent that Adam's going to use this nifty toy rather than the pipe he used last time when Jyg and I were his guests. We chit chat, after El Senor takes his first hit since 4/20. We decided to go over what I have in mind for the book. I call it a book because that's what my goal is, a book. Adam suggests that I would have to smoke cannabis before I can fully understand what it's like to go through it. I, however, don't smoke. I ingest. Not the same feeling, he says as he sparks up and the water begins to roll over, making an all too familiar sound from a distant past life. Nah, not for me, I say again. Besides, I'm a light weight. Sleeping pills knock me out in ten minutes and those brownies Eric made me all those years ago punched me in about fifteen. I like to bleed into it.
"You'll have to make him brownies," El Senor chuckles. My defense is set up, though I don't think Adam fully fathoms it. I don't smoke by choice and it's purely out of respect for my mother. She had to see my brother suffer through his addiction, so why invoke those memories with my experimenting? I don't say this because it's a little too personal and besides, I'm already making people uneasy by talking about Jyg. There must be something in my tone that makes them that way, or the smoke inhalation is making me paranoid because I'm now thinking that at any moment the fucking DEA's going to bust up the place. Here we go, I'll have to suck it up and call Editor for assistance because in reality, this project should really be going towards a really kick ass article that's been left up in limbo.
Adam, saying it's not schwag, hands the bong to El Senor. Fuck, there's a lingo now? Whatever happened to "It's good mota homes"? This disturbs me because my memories from high school come reeling back and I'm not up with the times anymore. Fuck it. El Senor inhales, the water rolls over itself and the smoke comes flying out and I realized the fucking tape isn't out recording the first pieces of our conversation. I crack my fingers and I start taking notes of names dropped, years and books. The tape recorder's only for the significance of the conversation, which will later go and be dissected, rewritten and made fictionalized. Isn't life grand?
S/O comes in during my Bloo Jean cat story, at my punchline: "And my neighbors just stare at me. 'What?! I lost my pants okay?!'" El Senor and Adam laugh. I chuckle as well. Adam and I continue to talk about things, while S/O and Senor have their own conversation. Not this one, El. Not this one.
I can't help but to stare at Adam though. It's has nothing to do with my bisexuality, but because of what a certain someone said before I went over. His loped off hair only makes him cuter than before. Thank you so much, by the way, she who will remain nameless. Your remark was all I thought about during the conversation. That and how big that cat is.
After a while, S/O goes to lay down, mentioning a nightmare she had the night before. It's all on tape, which is the best part. I won't share the details out of respect of her and because the account will later be fictionalized. I talk to Adam about my dreams of praying mantises. After all that is said and recorded, we head off because they're getting ready to go to the Art Walk. El Senor takes one final hit of the bong, which has now changed to a bluish color and we still don't know why, though I suspect it's only done to freak out the user, but that's just me. He chokes on the smoke, turns to me and says, "You driving?"
Oh, but the night is young.
At Adam's, El Senor fell in love with the clear purple-ringed bong that was left sitting on the table. It's apparent that Adam's going to use this nifty toy rather than the pipe he used last time when Jyg and I were his guests. We chit chat, after El Senor takes his first hit since 4/20. We decided to go over what I have in mind for the book. I call it a book because that's what my goal is, a book. Adam suggests that I would have to smoke cannabis before I can fully understand what it's like to go through it. I, however, don't smoke. I ingest. Not the same feeling, he says as he sparks up and the water begins to roll over, making an all too familiar sound from a distant past life. Nah, not for me, I say again. Besides, I'm a light weight. Sleeping pills knock me out in ten minutes and those brownies Eric made me all those years ago punched me in about fifteen. I like to bleed into it.
"You'll have to make him brownies," El Senor chuckles. My defense is set up, though I don't think Adam fully fathoms it. I don't smoke by choice and it's purely out of respect for my mother. She had to see my brother suffer through his addiction, so why invoke those memories with my experimenting? I don't say this because it's a little too personal and besides, I'm already making people uneasy by talking about Jyg. There must be something in my tone that makes them that way, or the smoke inhalation is making me paranoid because I'm now thinking that at any moment the fucking DEA's going to bust up the place. Here we go, I'll have to suck it up and call Editor for assistance because in reality, this project should really be going towards a really kick ass article that's been left up in limbo.
Adam, saying it's not schwag, hands the bong to El Senor. Fuck, there's a lingo now? Whatever happened to "It's good mota homes"? This disturbs me because my memories from high school come reeling back and I'm not up with the times anymore. Fuck it. El Senor inhales, the water rolls over itself and the smoke comes flying out and I realized the fucking tape isn't out recording the first pieces of our conversation. I crack my fingers and I start taking notes of names dropped, years and books. The tape recorder's only for the significance of the conversation, which will later go and be dissected, rewritten and made fictionalized. Isn't life grand?
S/O comes in during my Bloo Jean cat story, at my punchline: "And my neighbors just stare at me. 'What?! I lost my pants okay?!'" El Senor and Adam laugh. I chuckle as well. Adam and I continue to talk about things, while S/O and Senor have their own conversation. Not this one, El. Not this one.
I can't help but to stare at Adam though. It's has nothing to do with my bisexuality, but because of what a certain someone said before I went over. His loped off hair only makes him cuter than before. Thank you so much, by the way, she who will remain nameless. Your remark was all I thought about during the conversation. That and how big that cat is.
After a while, S/O goes to lay down, mentioning a nightmare she had the night before. It's all on tape, which is the best part. I won't share the details out of respect of her and because the account will later be fictionalized. I talk to Adam about my dreams of praying mantises. After all that is said and recorded, we head off because they're getting ready to go to the Art Walk. El Senor takes one final hit of the bong, which has now changed to a bluish color and we still don't know why, though I suspect it's only done to freak out the user, but that's just me. He chokes on the smoke, turns to me and says, "You driving?"
Oh, but the night is young.
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