by Shain Knowles
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by
any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any
information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author,
except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
Copyright © 2012 by Shain Knowles
First Edition, 2012
Published in the United States of America
The night rushed toward dawn like a child toward chocolate. I sat shotgun staring out at the lights that blurred as we sped past them. The joint held in my right hand began to develop a run, so I spit on my left index finger and then ran it on the short side of the rolled bud.
Distorted lights blinded me; Houston was full of damn lights. I glanced over at the driver’s seat and thought about passing the blunt I held between my fingers, but my best friend was focused on the road ahead. I took another drag and held it until it became painful and smoke rushed out of my lungs. Following on its heels was a thundering cough. The cough must have broken the mind-controlling power of the freeway because the dude in the driver’s seat looked over at me and said, “Hey man, do you mind?”
“Not at all, but I’m guessing you do.” I handed over the smoke.
He took a puff, then a puff, and blew out a stack of smoke that turned into a small cloud about our heads. Then he abruptly crossed three lanes of traffic to get to the upcoming exit. With a sharp turn of the wheel, we made the off-ramp. He stopped a car length short of the stoplight at the end of the access road. He leaned forward against the steering wheel craning his neck, trying desperately to see oncoming traffic. He slowly lifted his foot from the brake, and we rolled at the speed of a snail uphill.