Love at First High
Zombify me, Cap'n
I walked out of the darkness and into the light of day. I had my little baggie and that made me feel good. Not just good, but gooooooood. I walked down the street with a swagger to my step, a song playing just for my ears. The cracked cement sidewalk was crowded, leaving me just enough breathing room in between random people. Red heads, blondes, brunettes, and a mohawk or two every so often passed me by. I received the occasional look of disgust at my appearance. I was used to it by now, though, I wasn't the most ordinary looking girl. Painfully short, to the extent where I have trouble seeing over the counter top at the local pubs. I was pale skinned, almost a lovely pure ivory shade. My eyes, they were eerie in the fact that they matched my skin so well. In hue they were a delicately bright emerald green although they somehow darkened when you were looking at me from above, which everyone always seemed to be doing. The contrast between my delicate features and the genre of style I wear always seems to shock people who take the time to get to know me. I'm greasy. I'm a punk. At least, that's what they call me.
Finally, I found my way home. Home to me was a shitty little basement apartment. I lived underneath two slumlords. They gave us the rent for cheap and we didn't pay utilities, so hey, slumlords aren't so bad when you're broke as fuck. It was dingy, it was dirty, and it was mine. I sat down in the middle of the large area rug on the floor of our living room. Actually, it was our only rug. My roommate, Bree, found it in the alleyway near our apartment. She drug it home and washed it up, after that it was good as new. A few cigarette burn holes, but nobody would look close enough to notice that, anyway.
I took out the clear baggie that Jim had given me earlier out of the sheath of my pocket and lay it in front of me on the plastic coated notebook I set down. The apartment was freezing, I was lucky that I had enough sweaters this winter. We don't have heat because the landlord was too cheap to pay for it. I call him a slumlord for a reason. The little green nuggets looked like minuscule fur lined balls of fluff. They gave off a strangely potent pungent odour as I aptly chopped them into a fine grain. Once the weed was chopped to oblivion, I reached for the tobacco papers I had stashed in the crevice between the television and the stand it stood on. It was actually an end table, but it did it's duty as our t.v. stand. I was walking home from work one day last summer and lo and behold, someone had moved out of their house and left a shitload of furniture behind. I made Bree find a wagon and help me lug over half of it home. I started to fold all of the ganja into the little paper and finally succeeded. I licked the little line of glue and closed it in on itself. It wasn't perfect, but it was smokeable. I'd gotten a lot better at cutting and rolling in the past month or so. At first, I was just using a makeshift pipe to smoke out of, usually a tin can, because I didn't have skills enough to roll a proper joint.
As I was about to light my newest creation I heard a a girl screaming at someone outside, and then a door slam. It echoed off the nearly empty walls of the apartment, and it was apparent that my roommate and lifelong best friend was home from her job as well. I heard Bree grunt as she came into the room. That, coupled with the fac that she had just been shouting at complete strangers meant that she had had a worse day on the job than I did. Bree practically dragged herself into the living room I had beein sitting nearly dead center of.
"Hey", I called, my voice full of sympathy. She turned to look at me, dead pan. She raised her arms into a mock zombie pose and let her jaw hang slack.
"Braiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinssssss", she moaned in my general direction, her eyes unfocused as to complete her zombified impression. "Braaaaaaaaaaaiins!" She called again with more enthusiasm. She had a slight smile on her face now, she couldn't hold out forever. I couldn't help but chuckle at her antics. I crossed my legs indian style, getting more comfortable in my carpet spot.
"That bad, huh?" I wiggled one of the joints I rolled just before she walked in at her, tempting her. She gave in to sin quite easily though, and flopped down on the couch with the missing stuffing. She'd recently dyed her hair dark brown, and had a few dark spots on her scalp where she'd carelessly spilled the dye.
Finally, I found my way home. Home to me was a shitty little basement apartment. I lived underneath two slumlords. They gave us the rent for cheap and we didn't pay utilities, so hey, slumlords aren't so bad when you're broke as fuck. It was dingy, it was dirty, and it was mine. I sat down in the middle of the large area rug on the floor of our living room. Actually, it was our only rug. My roommate, Bree, found it in the alleyway near our apartment. She drug it home and washed it up, after that it was good as new. A few cigarette burn holes, but nobody would look close enough to notice that, anyway.
I took out the clear baggie that Jim had given me earlier out of the sheath of my pocket and lay it in front of me on the plastic coated notebook I set down. The apartment was freezing, I was lucky that I had enough sweaters this winter. We don't have heat because the landlord was too cheap to pay for it. I call him a slumlord for a reason. The little green nuggets looked like minuscule fur lined balls of fluff. They gave off a strangely potent pungent odour as I aptly chopped them into a fine grain. Once the weed was chopped to oblivion, I reached for the tobacco papers I had stashed in the crevice between the television and the stand it stood on. It was actually an end table, but it did it's duty as our t.v. stand. I was walking home from work one day last summer and lo and behold, someone had moved out of their house and left a shitload of furniture behind. I made Bree find a wagon and help me lug over half of it home. I started to fold all of the ganja into the little paper and finally succeeded. I licked the little line of glue and closed it in on itself. It wasn't perfect, but it was smokeable. I'd gotten a lot better at cutting and rolling in the past month or so. At first, I was just using a makeshift pipe to smoke out of, usually a tin can, because I didn't have skills enough to roll a proper joint.
As I was about to light my newest creation I heard a a girl screaming at someone outside, and then a door slam. It echoed off the nearly empty walls of the apartment, and it was apparent that my roommate and lifelong best friend was home from her job as well. I heard Bree grunt as she came into the room. That, coupled with the fac that she had just been shouting at complete strangers meant that she had had a worse day on the job than I did. Bree practically dragged herself into the living room I had beein sitting nearly dead center of.
"Hey", I called, my voice full of sympathy. She turned to look at me, dead pan. She raised her arms into a mock zombie pose and let her jaw hang slack.
"Braiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinssssss", she moaned in my general direction, her eyes unfocused as to complete her zombified impression. "Braaaaaaaaaaaiins!" She called again with more enthusiasm. She had a slight smile on her face now, she couldn't hold out forever. I couldn't help but chuckle at her antics. I crossed my legs indian style, getting more comfortable in my carpet spot.
"That bad, huh?" I wiggled one of the joints I rolled just before she walked in at her, tempting her. She gave in to sin quite easily though, and flopped down on the couch with the missing stuffing. She'd recently dyed her hair dark brown, and had a few dark spots on her scalp where she'd carelessly spilled the dye.