On my door is purple piece of construction paper or two.

I wrote my name on one and “Hippie Lair” on the other.

I was babysitting when I made them.

There are also pictures of masks on my door.

And a picture of Angel.

And one of Spike, with a band-aid on his forehead.

(He was ripped so I fixed his boo-boo.)

I sit down on a make-shift couch amidst pillows.

They are soft.

I find a dried marijuana flower.

Oh, happy day!

The dry-spell endeth!

I smoke it.

Taking each breath VERY SERIOUSLY.

Roar. Serious weed.

I giggle as the Satan in my window shrinks into the distance.

(Yes, Satan lives in my window.)

(I only see him when I’m stoned though.)

The flower is fried.

Oh, man…

“Hey!” thinks my genius brain,

“Why don’t you drink the water in the bottom of the piece?!”

“Uh… mmk…” says I.

It tastes like poison mixed with vomit mixed with aroma of a Sharpie.

Gag.

The Mamas and the Papas serenade me.

“Hey, Eleanor!” they call, “sing with us!”

“Young girls that come into the cany-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-yon…”

I sound so beautiful, man.

I am a one woman choir, bitches.

My kitty comes along.

“What up, my home-chicken?”

I confuse myself; she’s not a chicken, she’s a cat.

I go talk to my dad about music.

He’s really… existing.

Whoa… I exist too… groove…

I decide to go shopping.

I need money.

To the bank! Attack!

I make sex noises to the bass line of song on the radio and laugh at myself.

The lady at the bank is mean.

I leave.

I remember I forgot to cash my check.

Whoops.

I go back.

“I can’t cash this check… you have a minor’s account.”

I leave again.

I go to the library.

The Worldbook Encyclopedia catches my eye.

“2004 edition! Sexy!”

I try to look up ‘marijuana’ , starting from the end of the ‘M’ book.

I am totally OUTRAGED that there are SO MANY WORDS BEFORE ‘MARIJUANA’!

WHO THE FUCK CARES ABOUT MARYLAND??

The piece on marijuana makes me angrier.

It’s all like, ‘bitch-bitch-don’t-do-drugs’.

‘There-is-a-rumor-about-getting-hooked-on-weed-but-we-won’t-tell-you-it’s-a-lie!!’

Meanie-poos.

I decide to rewrite the encyclopedia someday.

I go pick up my mommy at the train station.

“Listen while I play, play, play, play, play, play, play… my green tambourine!” I sing.

It’s pretty groovy.

Man.

I swing back to my shag-pad.

We decorate the family Christmas tree.

The lights look like candy.

I don’t say that out loud.

The eggnog is really tasty

The end… or is it the start of nothing more? Think about it…