Mercy! She felt better after a toke. Was it foresaken to be redeemed by a puff of smoke? What's the distinction between getting stoned or a caffeine high; a tingly indica or a couple of beers; an uplifting sativa or an SSRI?
When he drove the beltway between Baltimore and the District of Columbia he invoked an inner mantra: Do not engage the serpent.
Every time she wrote—it was all about her; a reminder of endless yesterdays. But she grew tired of that approach, and today, she conjured voices for an infinite self. It didn’t matter if she told the truth anymore.
When he smoked the herb he couldn’t read books. He could read, but he kept reading the same sentence over and over, which was absurd. And he loved reading books, every day, for hours on end. So when he read—a cup of dark roast was in hand.
She thought “failure” was a hoax so she removed the word from her lexicon in 1999.
He drove the distance between Maryland and Virginia countless times and he always succumbed to road rage. He couldn't shake it. He was seduced by anger and increasingly concerned about his vengence. Driving was a miserable test of ego.
She appreciated an amusing page turner but she liked to slow down every now and again to ponder a bit of philosophy.
He never liked the idea of declaring his lack of ambition. "So what do you do?" said the barfly at the 2-for-1 happy hour in Midtown. His face wilted in reply. But if he heard, "What do you obsess about?" He would be instantly attentive.
She used to drink red wine.
He enjoyed watching the Pittsburgh Steelers but he muted the announcers and the commercials. He didn’t talk to his family much but when he watched the games he thought about them.
She isolated herself from society yet delighted in the quotidian comforts of a liaison.
Temper is revealing, and the last time he drove to DC he was—cool as a cucumber. He practiced self reflection on a yoga mat and a QWERTY keyboard.
They are ready to write the next chapter.
⌘