The voices around him disappear as he lights his torch and the bud lights up, glowing in the darkness. He takes two quick inhalations and then another slower, longer one, until the sweet smoke burns his throat and he can feel tendrils of it curling into his lungs and nose. There’s chatter but he’s vaguely aware of anything other than the glow of the burning drugs and the soft snick snick of the lighter.
As the pipe warms in his hands, he takes one last inhalation before handing both the lighter and pipe off to the girl beside him. She’s his age, with shoulder length hair that is bleached blond. She is totally beautiful. Married, unfortunately, and her husband is asleep inside, as are her three children and we’re sitting on the porch, the townhouse unit beside us empty of its previous tenants and darkened. The pipe is passed around and suddenly the laughter and hushed voices come rushing back. The peak of the high is quick and leaves his face feeling numb and slightly pinched, as if he’s just had botox or something.
Soon they’ve made it through a couple of bowls and she decides to start walking. They gather their drinks – his is Jack Daniels and Nestea – and walk with the pipe, dodging spider webs between the townhouses and trees and trying to light the pipe while walking, with the flame getting low. They’ve used up all of the lighter fluid already.
He wants to see the shell of this house that burned down five months ago and so they go, then decide to hit the Palmwood, but the beach still reeks of shit, and they aren’t that high to appreciate ‘nature’ like that. One guy drives by and asks where they’re going.
To the bar! They say.
Well.. you’re going the wrong way! He says. It takes a minute and they all laugh.
The walk home seems slow as the drugs kick in and the air is sticky and humid. Heat lighting is off in the distance and humidity is starting to fog up the air. They trudge home, splitting off at each of their respective doors, settling in to do their nightly routine – she goes to bed with her husband and kids; he goes to write on his laptop and the third – his cousin – gives into his munchies and hits the sack.
Eventually, he is left awake, alone, watching storm come in and sitting on the laptop, alone, slightly hypersensitive to sound but not enough to truly be psyched out. It’s a good high; and short-lived. Just for this week, and come Thursday, when he arrives home – no more oxys, kush or skag.