I. Captivity The stench of bong water that follows like a stagnant cloud. Roll on Old Spice, pock-marked face, tie dye baseball tee. You’re a self medicated stoner with a blowtorch to battle abjection. No D.A.R.E program could keep you from imparting your smoke to me. A secondhand high. Continue reading
Did I tell you about the shady business down the hall? Garbage bins line the walls overflowing pizza crust and piss-yellow Mountain Dew.