Once I polish off my fifth beer and an equal number of shots—you don’t want to be asymmetrical when it comes to boozing—it’s time for me to head out, find some food, call it a night. The cute waitress asks me if I want her to call me a cab. But I tell her, “Nonsense, I drive dretter when I’m bunk.” Then, I tell her I’m joking, but I’m not entirely sure she believes me. Kids take things so seriously these days.
dretter bunkHeading out to the parking lot, I slip behind the wheel of the Mustang, fire it up, feel the good vibrations of the recently refurbished engine. Reaching in the interior pocket on my jacket, I pull out what’s left of a joint I stored there a week or so ago, pop it between my lips. Lighting it up with the Bic, I inhale a deep drag and feel the goodness enter into my bloo
