It’s the ritual that I miss. So many steps.
1. Where you live is important because:
- you have to have a local shop that sells iffy under-the-counter imported baccy
- you have to know people that know people that tell you which shop does this
- you have to have friends who know these people or are these people
- often the same friends are the ones who know people that sell strictly under-the-radar weed
- and you’d get an introduction or just give them some cash to sort you out
2. Once you’ve got all that sorted then:
- you can go to their house or yours and someone will have rolling papers
- maybe a rolling machine
- you need to know people that know you well enough when you skin up and it’s absolutely rubbish
- like the number one album-producer who kept one of your mouse-sized pieces of rubbish for posterity
- someone always will and then it all gets passed around
- and that is the ritual I miss the most
- all the adventure to get to this point where friends are messing about
- the joint of togetherness
3. I never really liked the new mega-strong skunk because:
- in the old days, I mean the ancient days, homegrown grass was a joke
- you’d be gutted if that was all anyone had when you wanted some diesel hash
- or rocky, or slate, or something mellow and light
- but the skunk. Woof.
- it stinks and it stinks
- it smells, but it stinks
- because skunk knocks you out
- trippy and glued to the chair
- entirely unaware of anything else really
- staring at each other glassy-eyed and reddened and completely devoid of thought
4. I hate that feeling. It has broken the idea:
- Skunk so potent and powerful that it is easier to skin up one for each person.
- There is no passing around, just passing out.
- Ah, but it’s a long time ago now.
- There’s a full stop and punctuation about me now.
- And I don’t care to deliberately lose it.
- But I miss the ritual.
- And I miss my friends.
- I miss those that are still around.
- And.
- I miss those that are never coming back.
No comments:
Post a Comment