A short story
By Bob Boldt
“Let me help you with that,” he said as he fumbled for a match. The burning coal at the tip of her joint had disappeared. Lit again, she inhaled deeply. There was the customary silence while the smoke fed its precious cargo to waiting lungs. There was a brief choke followed by a cough followed by some of the unabsorbed smoke being expelled from her lungs. Ted stood up and held out his hand. “No,” she said. “I’ll just sit here. You know, I like to stay in my own head when I’m high.” She was seated on a large beach blanket, dressed only in a green, paisley spread.
By Bob Boldt
“Let me help you with that,” he said as he fumbled for a match. The burning coal at the tip of her joint had disappeared. Lit again, she inhaled deeply. There was the customary silence while the smoke fed its precious cargo to waiting lungs. There was a brief choke followed by a cough followed by some of the unabsorbed smoke being expelled from her lungs. Ted stood up and held out his hand. “No,” she said. “I’ll just sit here. You know, I like to stay in my own head when I’m high.” She was seated on a large beach blanket, dressed only in a green, paisley spread.





.jpg)



.jpg)


