Can, Na, and Bis, You Bitch!
• • •
You look away from the slanted ceiling. I’m sitting at my desk. A beat-ass old explorer’s cap sits on my head. A pair of green sunshades grip either side of my skull, rest gently on my nose. The lenses are so reflective you can hardly see yourself, but you’re all the way ‘cross the room from me for Christ’s sake, you’d have to scope through a goddamn monocular just to spot a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of my sunshades from over there.
You still haven’t answered me, and I do not hand over the benefit of the doubt.
“Which strain should I bring, you little shit?!”
You look… puzzled, to say the least. Perplexed, to say more, and to say the most, well…
“This thing you gave me, it says,” I shout, “THE BEST WEED EVER!” to get my point across, whatever point that might be. “Peanut butter cookie. So should we bring this? Or…?”
You go on dead-eyeing me like some kind of fuckin’ eunuch or whatever the hell you are… I get impatient and walk over my desk, two feet on the wooden slab you son of a bitch, and storm voraciously to my stash box, that old wooden Bepis crate son of a handgun standing on twice as many legs as you even have in the first place.
“Gee-eM-Oh cookies,” I read from the plastic cannabis container. “THE BEST WEED EVER see, now how the f–”
But you’re not on the bed anymore. You’re not in here. I’m alone in the studio apartument.
“What the fuck?” I ask when I find you sitting on the couch out in the chill room. “Would you just tell me what fucking weed to bring already!?”
You don’t even fucking look at me.
“I’ll just figure it the fuck out then, all right?! I hope you’re fucking happy, you motherfucking son of a shit!”
You seem to be. You have that air about you as I walk past you and into the bathroom.
“I have a feeling,” I explain as the tap heats up slow, because I know you’re not going to ask, “that I’ll need to make a glasscrutch. In the near future. So I’m’a clean the pipe, then we’ll hit it. Cool?”
You don’t say a single goddamn thing. I walk over to the couch, the floor creaking as I go, and clap you upside the back’a’th’head. You take a pillow and swing it so hard into my fucking throat I’m on the ground, what the fuck is that? You fuckin’ silent protagonist fuckin’ piece’a’shit, won’t even tell me which one’a my fuckin’ weed strains to fuckin’ bring, fuckin’…”
I don’t trail off, no, I just go off, on and on and on. You wonder how I dress myself in the morning, asshole, and then realize I don’t. To dress oneself in the morning, one must wake up in the morning, and partner, I don’t fuckin’ sleep.
I close the bathroom door. I’m getting feelings, ‘man, weird fuckin’ feelings from you. Weird vibes, ‘man. I don’t wanna take any chances with this, we’re awful goddamn close to the center of Wuester right now.
Pipe’s clean. Pipecleaner is not, but ain’t that just how the fuck it goes? Fucking garbage, every last one of us.
“I don’t know much, but I know one thing beyond all bounds of reason and logic, and partner, that one thing is this here now: you do not want to catch yourself walkin’ no road head’d towards the center of Wuester, New Jerz.”
I don’t lock the door, as you’d hear the click. However, I do open the window, take the screen out, “but this arm holding the window halfway to almost fuckin’ shut, open the fucking windows, folks!” and climb out onto the roof. The pipe is in my teeth. I shimmy beneath an overcast’s shade.
Fuck, the studio apartument’s windie, intentional, is locked. No problem, see, because glass is actually fluid, so I just slide right through. Cannabis is already ground, boí. We’re movin’ ryght along.
I wrap my pipe, I assemble the fatboi, I pack the herb down with the cap of a pen. It feels right in my teeth, this paper blunt does, with its glassy one-hitter crutch. Feels right. Feels so right I don’t know what wrong was.
I bring the literal pocket taser out from my pocket and up to the end of the joint. Flip the top. Push the button.
This has been the first subchapter of Boardtrip II: Can, Na, and Bis, You Bitch!, which is hidden in the front of the book Sto’tryp. Here is everything you need to know about it:
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