I still haven’t figured this whole “smoke a bowl” shit.
Laura found an old notebook to write a grocery list. She found this list in it and we have no memory of creating it or what it means. We think the people are Me, Laura, Janet May, Andrew May.
When Laura and I decided to get married, her father offered me a truck. He had 3 and knew I was driving a death trap. I’ve been driving that truck since. Well, until today.
It would appear that the motor has decided to bang objects together that should not. Jim, she’s dead.
I will miss the ole gal and have fond dreams of her tonight.