I smoke marijuana
. I like to smoke my marijuana because it evens
me out; makes the world
seem a little more...spontaneous
...and not so god damned real
. Since the majority
of this country frowns upon
, I have to actually go through some work
to buy my weed (aka "getting da hooks
The first thing you need to do when attempting to purchase marijuana, is get a dealer. Now because of all the laws, finding a dealer isn't as easy as it sounds. There's a certain sense of danger, a fear, when purchasing marijuana, so you don't just need to find somebody with weed...you need to find somebody that you trust, with weed. My somebody, was Sean.
I had met Sean a few years ago, through a friend. We went over to his house, and he was the most laid-back guy you could ever meet. Crazy hair, always dressed in old t-shirts and jeans, real relaxed. He was always quick with a joke, and could go on for hours with crazy stories that would keep a crowd cracking up for hours at a time. Plus, he had the best shit.
So two days ago me and my friends are sitting around after work, smoking, relaxing, shrugging off the stresses of the day. The pipe was cached, and we went to dig into our stash, only to realize that we were about to load the last bowl. Since we were almost out, we called up Sean like we always do. The answering machine picked up, and the message said that he had gone to California, and that we should call Brian, his friend. So we gave Brian a call, and he told us something that just didn't register:
"Sean's dead, dude..."
Beaten to death in his sleep. Beaten to death...in his sleep! We couldn't believe it. We sat around for like an hour after hanging up the phone, just tossing out other explanations: He got busted by the cops! Brian's just setting us up, because they got to him, too! Brian's pulling our leg, he really is just in California, like the message says. Didn't you call like a few days ago and it was a different message? That can't be right! Well if it really was true, it would have been in the newspaper, right? Right.
We gather up all of the newspapers in my friend's house that we could find for the past week, and start going through them. Page after page of articles, but nothing about dead drug dealers. We keep looking, all breathing easier and easier after every discarded issue, and then it happened...
"Man Found murdered in Home"
The room got silent as we read on. "...found beaten to death in his bed," "...34 Louisiana Blvd.," it was all coming together. There weren't many details, but now the story was definitely true. After reading the article, it had finally set in. Sean was dead. For whatever reason, somebody had beaten him to death while he was sleeping. Crazy. We must have sat around for at least two hours just mulling it over in our heads. Of course, then something even spookier set in:
"So...Shit, dudes...where we gonna get some weed?"