My father was hiding…weed? Disappointment, and a little bit of confusion. I open and sniff. Brown and crumbly. Musty. A very old baggie of weed. The things I didn’t know about you, Daddy. I tuck it in my pocket with the phone number. Hell, maybe I’ll smoke it before I go to bed. Maybe we can commune together in the in-between.
Drinking his old hooch, smoking his pot. Have you had an original thought in your entire life?
