I’m About To Read To You Now

By Hills Snyder

It was the smell of weed that first brought us together. I was sitting in my car shortening a joint by lighting one end on fire while dragging on the other. I was parked on Thirty Fifth Street outside the gates of Laguna Gloria, a good place to be doing what I was doing. He was walking by, heading for those gates, when four fingers of smoke beckoned him to be tapping on my window...

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