This is What Happens Before School Every Day (rolled into one morning)

There was a parking garage
about 40 feet from the school
that every stoner and smoker
went to the top floor of
when they jonesed
before school.

On one such morning towards the
end of the school year
I had a half finished pack of
Reds.

Matt was with me
and I was listening to
pretentious glossy shoegaze on my
music player and Matt,
who had developed an addiction for secondhand
smoke,
was letting smoke waft
into his face.
He started prattling.
"You know...
it's really quiet."
The song was reaching its outro
and the singer was synchronized with
the guitar, drums, synth.
"Not peaceful,
quiet.
See,
Jon,
everything's bright.
And the walls
are stony
and there's
cigarette butts and
stains on the
ground and
this corny asphalt.
And everything's quiet."

I dragged and
my head was burning.

"How can it get peaceful
like this?"

My mouth was giddy.
My eyes
burned with nicotine high.
I hadn't smoked in weeks,
hours even.

"Jon.
Jon."
"Matt,"
I said.
"Isn't it amazing
that there are moments of clarity
in life?"

The album ended.
I took out another cigarette
and fumbled with the lighter.
The flames were
struggling with the wind.
I figured that I needed a new
lighter.
I got a puff off and
flicked.

The ash glided in the air.

"Matt."
"Huh?"

"You're full of shit."