I watched a frigid raindrop slowly expand across the top of my square one evening. Instead of tossing the funky carcinogen, my grip tightened around the wet spot holding my smoke together to be finished. I noticed my neighbor walking across the street toward me. She looked like the result of five hours in a bus station. "Beaten" seemed to be the appropriate adjective, but she stood like an oak tree. This wasn't a normal visit, I burned many a camel watching her argue with her teenage daughters or talk with the blue boys after her kids fucked up. On the flipside, her impression of me reflected a Lone Star drinking, guitar playing fool. Visit South Austin folks, growing up a military brat showed me so many cities. Everything my tired eyes absorbed doesn't touch the community here.
"Sorry to ask, but do you have joint?"
I couldn't help but flash a silly grin at the question. My first instinct told me to raid her daughters' room. But, I replied with a bowl of kb. I almost felt bad, this dank fucked her up. A homegrown specimen, two hit shit describes this killah best. Just as I almost called her for hitting on the cops she sees on a weekly basis, she blurted, "You smoke more than a fuckin locomotive." Again, I replied with a grin and a light to smoke my next camel. I couldn't resist enjoying myself as I heard about the neighborhood teens. When some 17 year old dunks on you on a weekly basis at the courts, you enjoy hearing about a slice of their social life. She wandered off into a cold Austin evening as small drop of water dripped onto the tip of my cigarette extinguishing my habit. | 
