If you feel like you can drive, then you’re not stoned enough.

How do you have to pick her up from somewhere, I ask, bumbling to the car.

I’m heading to the train stop, now better understanding that cereal is my kind of soup.

I haven’t had a thing to eat. I’m wearing a new outfit. My parents should be returning from Wendover any moment now. I cleaned up Carito’s messes. One bag into another, back and forth, day afterday. The same routine. This house gives me the creeps. It is not my home. I am too big for my room. These people are not my family. I don’t know who they are.

Maybe I am the truest of the dead.

Battery saver on.

The writer has to be always on.

But I am feeling sluggish. It might be because I’m full of dulled out THC. I’ve got too much food in me. I ate almost all of a burrito that I meant to save more of for Musette.

The future is providing itself grim, but if I can get that light within me to shine through, even though Bernie Sanders did just lose the New York primary, which was a very big state for him, as was it for us all. My boss probably being so pissed. There is still a road yet though if you look within and water the inner light you find.

You have seen things. You have a greater understanding of how the world works. While your wife is out there working her tail off. Sleeping in the bed now like I dosed her.

I told you I would work on this until I die. It may be tonight. You never know. My heart attack could chime back in. Could happen quick if I’m driving. On my way to pick up Musette. Never arriving. Dead on the side of the freeway.

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