Grass [#12]

Mike is an inexperienced smoker. But when he smoked, it was more often weed than tobacco. Smoking weed was something he used to do with friends. After school, after work or in the weekends after some drinks, but never alone. Hanging on the couch, talking, watching some television, playing games, something salty nearby and a nice long joint between his fingers. The effect is heaviest after the first tug. The lack of fresh air, the oxygen missing, that first tug, freeing his feet from the floor he walked, his ass from the coach he hung in, his head heavy but free like a fresh ball bearer, hard to balance. Each tug enhancing this feeling of freedom little by little. The smoke passing through his mouth makes for a very dry feeling and a need for salty food. Chips, salt sticks and nuts in several bowls were housed on the glass table. Paradise in the living room and a friend to share it with. Not just the colours, the tongue’s taste buds are extremely sensitive to it as well. As the joint nears its last tug, a new one is presented. It somehow looks funny and they both laugh at it, at each other. But it does not look funny. It is perfectly normal, but it’s amusing to both of them. “Why?” is not a question that springs to mind. Reasoning or thinking  has no part in this act of relaxing. Things just seem to happen. Chips is just eaten, smoke is just inhaled, moments are just enjoyed.

Until the questions arrive. Slowly a question takes shape. It is triggered by nothing, a question out of nothingness. A simple question, but the answer is so deep, so true, something so out of this world it has to be confirmed by all audiences. Both friends feel like they’re on top of the world, masters of wisdom. Then they laugh it off and continue smoking.

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