Hilly wasn’t at all disappointed. The pot smelled fresh and wholesome. He guessed it would probably be the best s**t they had smoked together in the last three weeks. “Did you bring a lighter?”
Dean did, pulled it out of his left pocket, and presented a purple and orange Bic lighter for their pot-smoking.
“Let the fun begin,” Hilly said, smiling from ear to ear. He lit the joint, inhaled.
Dean didn’t object, grinning. “Praise Jesus,” he whispered, meaning it.
* * * *
Sitting across from each other on the blanket, indulging in their puffs of the strong and illegal Mary Jane, they become high as kites and overly giggly as they passed the joint back and forth. Dean eventually said, “The sky is purple tonight. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before.”
“And the wind smells like c**k-juic
