Midnight Toker

“You know, I think sex is the only thing we have in common,” I said.

He leaned over the side of the bed to grab something from his pants. He pulled out a bag of weed and started to roll a joint.

“We both like Rushmore,” he said.

The room was silent for a few minutes.

“So what happens when we can no longer use Max Fischer as an excuse for this ‘relationship’? ”

He lit the joint and very coolly responded, “can’t we just enjoy each other?”

I sank further into the bed and faced the other way.


The room was dark, and suddenly cold. The air smelled like incense and skank weed. I pulled the sheets closer to my body. I stared at the midnight wall and felt my heart racing. He always made my stomach hurt.

God, I really have to fart.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

Suddenly, his body was over me like a dark cloud. I watched the shape of his mouth become hostile.

“I don’t like those kind of questions.”

He pulled me closer and said nothing. I barely had to move, while he already knew what to do.

Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting on the couch watching him tie his shoes. He was bent over with his back to me as he confessed that he thinks he likes me.
“I think I like you.” What the fuck does that mean?

“Oh yeah? ” I said.

He got up quickly from the couch, ignoring what he had just said. He unlocked the door and gave me a half hug.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, walking down my apartment stairs.


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