Pothead.
In the woodlot woods, we stood, destined to be forgotten.
“Yo, hand me that bowl, motherfucker,” someone mumbled in a cartoon voice.
The bowl was handed off after a last deep drag from the kid with the greaser cut and the duck’s ass. The smoke from his exhale bathed his pimples in backlit moon glow and he almost coughed but was better than that. He chok…