"i..." she makes a grunting, disparaging noise. desperate. "i fucking hate my past." she tosses down her phone and it clatters. you know, because of all the plastic?
"me too." i flick the lighter to life and hold it against the bowl piece. the familiar taste of burning plant matter creeps it's way up the walls of the bong and into my trachea. i pull the bowl out and the sudden airflow slingshots smoke into my lungs.
i supress the urge to cough.
i pass her the bong and the lighter and exhale after a few more seconds.
"you could burn your past. i mean, that's what i did with mine." i looked at her with lidded eyes (it is 8:33 in the morning) and crack a nice grin even though i haven't brushed my teeth yet.
she hits the bong (just as hard as any man could, i tell you what) and passes it to me, talking and exhaling in her frustration. "i thought about that!" smoke poured from her mouth and nose, "but, i don't fucking have it!"
flame, bubbling water flowing air, pass. "don't have what?" i watch the smoke float up through my eyelashes.
"my past! i don't have it here with me to burn." gurgle gurgle gurgle gurgle whoooosh, pass.
"oh." bowl's almost empty, so i rip the shit until i can't see through the smoke and power my ass through the clearing. i coughed once or twice or fourteen times or whatever, "well, maybe," cough cough "you should forget that," cough "it ever existed." cough cough.
she just sighs and i load another bowl.
an: true story? this is the first thing i've written where someone's actually smoking. i always kind of just allude to it. heh