Pot Addict

I’m Pete and I’m not a marijuana addict. I couldn’t be. It’s not addictive.

It’s just that I used to stand at payphones in the snow for four hours trying to get a hold of my drug dealer to score some weed after I swore I’d never buy it again.

But I’m not a marijuana addict. Couldn’t be. It’s not addictive.

It’s only that I used to crawl on the dirty, dusty floor of my bartender/slash drug dealer (whose probably in jail or dead by now) after he sadistically flipped a tiny roach on it just to see me crawl.

But I’m not a marijuana addict. Couldn’t be. it’s not addictive.

It’s just that I used to scrape whatever resin I could off the floor mat of my beat up 1979 Toyota Celica in the 98 degree heat praying for enough for just one little hit.

Or that I chose my honeymoon location because I heard that Jamaica had killer pot.

Or that I had dope shipped to me through the interstate mails in the cut out belly of a toy doll bunny rabbit when I was a 25 year medical school graduate.

But I’m not a marijuana addict. Couldn’t be. It’s not addictive .

It’s just that I couldn’t open my heart to my young love without toking up for fear that she’d see the real me.

It’s just that I couldn’t open my heart to my young love without toking up for fear that she’d see the real me.

But I’m not a marijuana addict. Couldn’t be. It’s not addictive .

 


To-do:

Lose denial.