Times have changed since marijuana started becoming legalized. I remember when I was younger we had to know someone who knew someone else who could get you some smoke. They were always in the background, the person who provided the final product, and nobody was supposed to know who they were. There was also the unspoken code that all the stoners understood, how you don't talk about a sale on the phone. If you call to get something, you have to phrase it in terms of fruit, such as asking if you can get another bunch of strawberries like the last ones you picked up. That tells the person on the other end exactly what you want, and doesn't mention the word "pot".
The water lapped up underneath my chin and was beginning to cool off, giving me a chill. I reached up with my big toe and turned on the hot water, a tear rolling down my face when I thought about my puppy Holbrook. He was a rotty, but was also mixed with something else much bigger, making him a very formidable sight, but he was a lover. My chin began to quiver and I wanted to duck under the water until I quit blowing bubbles, anything to end the gripping pain I felt inside.
My husband drove while I stared out the window and watched the clouds form shapes.. My mother had slipped into a semi-coma and it was taking forever to get from Flagstaff to Aztec NM to see her. I didn't know if I would ever see her alive again or not, and memories kept flooding my mind.
It sounded like a dead body being pulled across the room, slowly, and with great effort.