Jun
17
“How was your first night at work?”
“It sucked. I got soaked to the bone; I cleaned the dirty, filthy grease trap, which nearly made me puke it smelled so bad, and my co-workers found it oh so funny.” Paul had slept until noon after drinking late at the Cup. “But it means that I don’t have to go home this summer and spend time with my parents and all the snobbish, fake little rich kids that pretend they’re my friends – You wanna get high? I got a new bag from Fat Daddy. It’s hydroponic, supposed to be really good.”
“I want to go out tonight. Let’s go dancing.”
“Alright. Hand me the pipe, we can go to the Cave there’s a band playing that’s supposed to be good.”
Claire handed Paul the pipe off of the coffee table, and she watched as Paul went through the daily – morning, noon, and nightly – ritual of breaking bud from stem, rolling the bud between his fingers and letting the loose pieces fall into the bowl of the pipe where he packed it firmly so that it would burn without going out. When he was finished he pressed the pipe to his lips, put the flame of the lighter to the bowl and inhaled. The hot pungent smoke filled his lungs and burnt his lips leaving a sticky acrid coating of resin. He held his breath until his body rebelled and forced the smoke from his mouth and nose in fit of coughing that lasted after he had passed the pipe to Claire and she had repeated his actions. They did this until the pipe was cashed. They laid back on the couch and laughed.
They spent the rest of their day this way, drifting on a warm hazy breeze listening to music and talking idly and enjoying the freedom that is afforded to college students in the summer. They ate frozen burritos heated in the microwave, and drenched in salsa to soften the chewy shells. They drank cheap berry flavored wine, and made love in the warm sunlight that flooded the studio apartment. The fading light roused them from their stupor and they headed out for the night. Claire had changed into a poodle skirt she had rescued from a consignment store and meticulously cleaned and mended. Her hair was up and she looked beautiful. As they walked down the street under the arching oaks, heads turned and the eyes of everyone she passed followed her. Paul was oblivious to the attention that she was attracting. He was anxious and walking fast. Every block or so he would stop, grab Claire’s arm and impatiently pull her forward.
