Your week is on fire. Weed and logs and fireplaces and friction and belt buckles all make smoke. Let it get to your head, but don’t breathe too deep.
Or you’ll run shit out of firewood.
Or you’ll puke in every trashcan on Delancey.
Or you’ll lose use of your arms and legs and just keep telling people that you’re trying to “focus up” before going home.
Or you’ll forget your New Year’s resolutions.
Or you’ll be a little too brave instead.
Or four becomes three-and-three-quarters becomes three-and-a-half becomes unacceptable.
Or $200 in your wallet becomes a smattering of crinkled ones and torn rolling papers.
Or pills become candy, and candy becomes bad for your stomach, and your stomach just gives up entirely.
Or you just get spectacularly stoned and-screw it- go get it in.