So my trip to Boston went down pretty much flawlessly. The day before I got all gentleman'd up in my peacoat and blazer and walked to my dealer's house to pick up a quarter and two, an eighth for my brother and the rest for me. I'd admit to looking a mite bit strange walking across Route 44 in formal dress wear. After that, in a flurry of panicked driving, we missed our bus, but were relocated to a bus en route to the same destination a mere five minutes later. In Worcester, we found that the bus we were meant to be on arrived almost ten minutes after we did.

In Boston, I hopped on the T and rode quietly to Eliot station. A man in one of those Irish golf hats said he was pleased to meet me as I stepped onto the train. I was too paranoid to know what his story was.

I met Evan in his room, after knocking and ringing the doorbell for almost five minutes, before realizing that the key was in the mailbox. I presented to him what I had stashed away in my other coat (the eighth and two!), at which he became thoroughly ecstatic. Elinor arrived minutes later, and we ripped the bong for a bit in Evan's tree house before sitting down in his kitchen for what seemed to be an indefinite amount of time. Later that night, we would hit several packs of the bong and even a blunt, which got me to the point of lying down on the couch, uncomfortably twitching.

The next day went something similar, until Evan's friend Zack arrived. I had only met Zack once, but was enthralled by his deliberate nature and unquenchable interest in my ideas for future endeavors. I like a dude who goes along with whatever is happening for as long as necessary. I love a dude who will not only go along with it, but will also seek to aid the process of whatever "it" is. In the parlance of Kesey, Zack is a man who is "on the bus."

He also had two forties of High Life, which soaked the evening in lite exuberance. We went back to the bong, naturally, and then strode about the town in search of a convenience store. My lucky strikes reaching perilously low quantities, I sought a pack of American Spirits. We found a kid of eighteen years of age who agreed to make the purchase, but the damn fool got lights instead of regulars, which I had specified.

The next morning, Evan and I awoke at noon, Zack and Elinor having already departed for their various engagements. We grilled burgers for a meal, two for each of us. They weren't even regular burgers, which would have been enough with a generous spicing of seasoned salt and black pepper. They were garnished with red chili peppers and onions, some fancy patties purchased from Trader Joe's, or something. We grilled them alongside portabella mushrooms and Monterey pepper jack cheese. After that, we smoked a bowl in the park while it snowed. I then departed to the bus around five, Max already waiting for me. I rode home and slept a deep, deserved slumber.