Ween Weeningson Goes To The Beach

Pretty good


3. Smells Like Berries

Leaving the house, a great fear of mine, has been a practice that I have been avoiding for many years now. The last time i left the house was to sell that "Dank" pipe. Turns out what I thought were diamonds were shards of glass glued to the outside. I am not a smart man. But, as i was saying, leaving the house usually results in a burn. I go red like a lobster. And i doubt a red guy in the aisle at the supermarket is gonna help me stay inconspicuous. They'll talk to me. There is only one thing i hate more than sunlight and thats idle chatter. About my skin, the weather, cats MY HELLO KITTY FUCKING MACBOOK, its all bullshit and it gets in my way. Handshakes, weaty palms slapping each other, yellow smiles, husky voices. This is why i hate the outside world, this is why:

I. Never. Deal.

However, my ratfaced little friend can not be trusted carrying that much product. 2 kilos. A damn stockpile of cloudy shards of good felings. He'll take them. He'll take them and run. He knows i cant chase. He'll be in mexico in a week and a half. I hate him.

I grab all the essentials to leaving the house in Las Angeles, California. A long jacket, jeans, a beanie and sunglasses. This is what i like to call "Beach Wear". I lace up my Converse shoes, tread scraped off {no footprints, you see} and heavily huff. Who makes a deal at the beach? WHO?!

I load the 8 billion trillion kilos of not so clear crystal into a Totally-Not-Shady-Please-Stop-Looking-At-Me bag and gra the dirty handle of my front door. I twist it, pull and squint. Sunglasses my ass. I dont own a car. im on for one fun ride on the bus. So in the word of Pokemons "Ash Ketchum"

"Lets go and do catching of pokedudes or whatever.....Woo"

I take my first step into the sunbathed street, and trip. I fucking trip. What I trip on, is a pile of mail. Eviction notices and shit, not my problem.

I take a hard breath, stand up and ask myself,

"Where the hell is the bus stop?"

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