Four
Twenty is time for bongs, bowls and fries. Prohi-
bitionists cry. Many stoners get high. I
spark me a light, smoke ’till my mouth is dry. These
OCB papers? They always burn right. They’re

made from rice paper. Don’t steal my red stapler. It’s
five o’ clock somewhere; four twenty is safer. I
use a hemp wick to avoid butane flavor. My
best friend gives me hash! A wonderful favor.

Glass pipes and bong rigs are put to good usage. My
mind’s in a haze, but my vision is lucid. The
colors and sounds are enhanced. I’m secluded with-
in a hotbox. The air is diluted with

bong smoke and hash vapor. What an attraction!
Large, round black pupils perceive all the action.
Myrcene and pinene engulf my olfaction.
Rez-coated fingers pack bowls and roll fat ones.