Late into one of my nights off I was riding my bike home from a friend's and decided to swing by the store to warm up, buy a snack and visit with my coworker who works graveyard the four nights of the week that I don't.
I walked up and down every aisle trying to figure out what looked good. It's tough. We have way too many choices.
I opted for a Hostess blackberry pie and an Arizona honey green tea. I took it out to the picnic table to consume before going home.
As I sat there at the edge of the cattail marsh under a mountain ash tree stuffing my face and checking out the moon and stars it hit me: I was one of them.
I was in one of my stories!
Which is a perfectly sensible and pretty typically cool and awesome thought when you're stoned.
Yes, I was one of those late-night customers. Sort of. I actually threw my trash in the garbage can.
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