Molly

“So do you believe in ghosts?” he asked me, the cigarette he just took a drag from resting contently between his fingers. I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes, his mind wandering off into some comatose state of thought. He was answering his own question.
“Yes and no,” I finally decided to say. “I’ve always believed that there’s something there; whether it’s a ghost, a body, I don’t know… There’s just something there, I feel like.”
He nodded, admiring my ideas with a semi-impressed facial expression. “Touché, Molly. You read my mind.”
I smiled. “We druggies think alike, man.”
He laughed. “We’re not necessarily druggies, Molly. We just like the drugs of our day and one day that love will pass onto something. Hopefully something more healthy, but hey, that’s the luck of the draw. You never know what you’re gonna’ get or where you’re gonna’ go.”
The fact that Poc claimed that he wasn’t a druggie tickled me inside – I’ve never seen him not faded or trying to get faded. I could say the same for myself, though; I haven’t known myself in a long time to go without something in a day. It’s sad the person you grow into these days; I wouldn’t necessarily call it growing, either.
“I hope you’re right, man,” I capped our conversation with, slapping the gravel off my hands and heading back into the smoke shop to deal with customers. I cleaned the shop top to bottom, even dusted the glass and the entire inventory. I have to admit, she makes me a focused girl, that Molly.