Tuesday, July 10, 2012


"Jobin has arrived," I say in a raised, melodious voice.

He gets out of the truck and looks over at me from the driver's side door. "Do you have a charger for an iPhone?"

"No, sorry. All I have is this crappy BlackBerry."


I light up the cigarette that sits between my lips, the slightest amount of smoke covering my eyeball, stinging it just enough to where I need to blink it out. Jobin closes his truck door and walks up the concrete path towards the front porch. He approaches with open arms and a smile, "What's up buddy? Been a while."

I walk over and give him a big hug. Jobin, one of the only men left in this world that has any sort of trust from me. He is one of the few people that will confront you with an issue rather than keep it bottled up, just letting that anger fizz inside, building up over something that was never true in the first place. He would share his cot if you had to sleep on rocks.

We spend the next few minutes catching up while I smoke. When I finish the butt we head inside and I grab him a beer. I am already five tallboys deep and there are only three beers left so I grab another one as well and tell Jobin he can have the last two in there.

My sister comes into the kitchen and acts all goofy. Certainly not because she has a crush on Jobin or anything but the fact of the matter is, ever since she had started smoking pot she has turned into a much more outgoing person than she used to be. Back in the day it was so damn hard just to get her to act even slightly normal around anyone but her friends, and even then she was incredibly awkward. She started smoking in college, realized what she had been missing this whole time (on top of the fact that she is now fun to be around) and is still doing great in classes! Here is the rundown of myself smoking weed and going into college:

Tried weed in middle school. Not my style.

Tried again my sophomore year of high school. I don't think I even got high.

Started smoking my senior year of high school. Everyday during lunch, head out and get baked.

College, one year after graduating. Tried cocaine and ecstasy for the first time. Amazing experiences.

Getting deeper and deeper into the drug scene. Doing blow pretty much everyday, sometimes before and during work just to stay awake. Selling it now with my girlfriend. She is even worse then me, doing ecstasy every morning on the way to work. She was smoking hot and we had some crazy sex in awesome places.

Dropped out of college. My girlfriend and I are split and she is off fucking our drug dealer. I try to sell a pound of reefer to this thug-ass mothafucka (me being the obvious middle man. It was a fucked situation to begin with). When we leave from the site where the deal went down, I get a call from our drug dealer (yes, the fucker that is fucking my whore of an ex-girlfriend) and apparently the thug handed the money over, but the money was a bunch of strips of brown paper bag wrapped in duct tape. We had been punked by a thick, black, gold grille-wearing bitch. I can see him laughing out loud, walking down the street with a free pound of grass he scored off a couple of punk, white dudes. I drive around that night, looking for him to run over with my car. I had driven home and grabbed my samurai sword just in case I had to finish him off after running him over a few times. No luck. I contact my fairly large friend, buy a few grams of coke and walk around the neighborhood where we were pretty sure he hailed from. We would do a round through the streets, stop at my car and load our noses, then do it all over again. Eventually we gave up and headed to my place to do the rest of the snow.

The word was that members of the Russian mob were going to be after me if I didn't pay off the pound. I scrounged the money together, how is a different story, and handed it over. This is the moment where I decided, maybe I should get the fuck out of here.


It's good to be alive.

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