I sneaked some of my house mate, Shane's boyfriend, Simon's pot. Not that Shane calls Simon his boyfriend, which is one of the great mysteries in life. (I wish Simon was my boyfriend)
I'm smoking pot and drinking coffee on my Juliette balcony, as Mark likes to say, first thing on this beautiful day. Soon, I won't care about the world, or will I care more? Care, in as much, as am-so-relaxed-that-nothing-will-be-bothering-me, not want-to-exit-as-soon-as-I-can, you understand.
I mean, the sky is blue, the sun is warm and there is a gentle breeze on my skin. My palms look healthy, that’s the plants sitting next to me and not some crazy palmistry thoughts I might be having. I must water them before I go indoors.
A jogger with small, white, shorts and thick, hairy, thighs runs past. He's a fit lad, broad shoulders, narrow waist. His feet go thomp, thomp, thomp on the foot path.
A mother and her 3 year old son, who is in wonder at the plants protruding through my front fence, head in the other direction. She has a tight grip on his hand, at the end of his extended arm, as he looks around.
A man stops, shields his hand, lights a cigarette and walks on.
Mum pulls her son away from the smoker. Her son looks back, as though fascinated with what the man is doing.
The sun touches my bare toes for the first time, they curl instinctively and a tingle rushes up my spine.
The street is quiet again.
I puff on my joint and try to think what I am going to do for the rest of the day? Except the marijuana has already hit me and just sitting still with the sun warming my skin seems as good a thing to do as anything else.
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