11.20.24

fat black dude in the weed shop next to me telling me he hates this. he hates it so much. he hates that it's full indica, and that now, he wants to get both that and the other one. i ask the guy next to me what's the cheapest one they've got, that's all i care about. he was eyeing the single preroll. $10, but 40% off makes it 6. that's a pretty good deal, 6 bucks to get high. not bad. the entire store is lit up with flourescents and there's gay guys, alt girls, a fat black guy, and me, confused.

walking through the park earlier and there's dogs everywhere. burnese waiting at the light, samoyed sitting for dinner, two yorkies tussling, and then one yorkie finds another yorkie, less familiar, and then it's war. apologies are exchanged, and then a fight becomes a friendship.

days, weeks, months, years can go by without leaving an impression if nothing happens slowly enough. but sometimes things slow down and it all enters you at once, like the world comes to a screeching halt but everything is louder, more colorful, more textured. the wind in your face, the feeling of the grass brushing up against your legs, the cries of children and the beating of wings. light penetrates through the trees and they bend into each other, wind around, like a golden army of ballerinas petrified in time.

but the skaters sitting at the tree next to you are different than you. they play music you don't recognize, say words that have no meaning to you, smoke more weed than you could ever imagine. they're younger than you and better socialized. the people in the park all have girlfriends or kids or families or strollers with shiba inus in them. pampered, decrepit dogs have great representation here. decrepit not in the good way, in the my owner gets me brain surgery when i'm knocking on 120 years in human years kind of way. like a final selfish grip over a phase of life, a last stand against the tides of time and the inevitability of a pregnancy and a relocation to the suburbs.