November

It looked like a box with a half bubble on top and when you lit the weed, it pulled all the smoke out and into what seemed to be a sturdy garbage bag. Then you breathe the smoke out of a small plastic tube attached to the bag. Yes, the Volcano Vaporizer. Oh, shit is right. I can't even explain how much smoke I inhaled. I hit it eight times...that I remember. We smoked out of this, out of bongs, out of bowls, out of the incredible, out of blunts. We smoked in the living room, in the bedroom, in the kitchen. We smoked until 3AM.

Karla stumbled on the stairs as Sam, Rae, and I did one last shot. Then Sam stole a roll of toilet paper and got Zach to drive us home. Rae decided to sleep on Tyler's couch, so Karla hopped in the front seat while Sam and I jumped in the back.

I could feel it coming. Zach's dreads were hanging over the headrest of the driver seat. Sam asked me what was wrong. My door wouldn't open. It was locked.

I was hot, burning. It was getting closer and closer. Zach started the car. My stomach emptied.

On his floor. On his door. On me.

In his hair.

Then I blacked out.

~~~

Food made me nauseous, but Sam was sweet enough to make it so I ate what my stomach could handle. Half a burger, some baked beans, and a pickle. I was wearing a tank top and shorts and sitting in her, well our, bed. It was 5:15AM and I felt like shit.

My favorite thing about her apartment, other than the freedom, was her windows. About fifteen feet away were the train tracks that sped throughout Newark. When the windows were open, it shook the whole place. But it made me feel connected. Like I wasn't the only one listening to the sound.

Yet, the experience was not so great fucked up.