It was a gloomy winter night. She had just picked me up from somewhere. It's not important. She and I were contributing to an irritating silence. The car was dirty. It had a floor of trash instead of carpet. She asked. "What is wrong?" "Nothing." I said.
We do this to ourselves from time to time. Maybe it thrills us. I really couldn't say. You can make your own assumption. I got the pipe and loaded a bowl from her bag. This hardly helps the situation. Yet it makes everything better. We don't have to talk. She said nothing. I did the same.
The rest of the night was kind of a blur. Not from the marijuana. I just can't stand to recollect my feelings. The basement was my home. Not much of a home; it was my friends basement. At least we had our own bathroom. The blankets pulled us into bed. We didn't speak a word. I turned my back to her. She began to whimper.
I got out of bed and poured a drink.
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