A JOINT

Estanislao defeats me in three sets. He and I take seats at the snack bar and order smoothies. "You need a ride?" he asks. "I could use one." "Are you headed home?" "Eventually, but why don't we go for a cruise. I wouldn't mind puffing on that shit that inspired you to beat me today." "It's nasty shit. I don't want you to have a nervous breakdown." "I'm in the right mental state. I had a productive day. If things get too edgy, I can count on xanax pulling me through. And there's enough cough medicine to put me to sleep." "You're not abusing that shit, are you?" "I hope not. I'm taking medication for high blood pressure and high cholesterol as well as a regular addition of Excedrin, xanax, cough medicine and Viagra. And that doesn't include the alcohol. I don't think the pot has much of an effect." "You look healthy." "My liver says I'm handling all this bullshit without a hitch. The cardiologist says his prescriptions will give me the heart of a 20-year-old. I've chosen science over religion. We're almost 60 years old, compadre. We could fall through the ice anytime although it's hard to believe that we won't live forever. I never fail to read those obits and it's not looking good for either of us. Then again, I sometimes wonder how we made it this far." We finish the health drinks and depart in Estanislao's car. He has one rolled. Five minutes later we're riding in the countryside with the air-conditioner at full-blast. Good dope makes an immediate impression. Estanislao is a jazz aficionado and a trumpet blows furiously as we trip through our own worlds. I feel the energy surging in me, but it is a positive rather than a negative force. I love reading my writing when I'm stoned and wish I had tomorrow's story on my lap so I could fine-tune it with marijuana-inspired insight. "What time is it, Stan?" "It's 5:30. Why? Do you have to be somewhere?" "I told Fabiola I would be home at six. That gives me time for a spontaneous moment." "I don't like the sound of that." "Dope makes me horny." "Sweep your wife off her feet when you enter the house and carry her to your bedroom as if it were your honeymoon night." "Them days are long gone. She will be tired from work, she will be tired from preparing dinner, she will be tired because the kids haven't cut her any slack since she picked them up and she's tired of me in general. Fabiola grows impatient very quickly and dealing with my physical needs is the last priority on her list." "So what are you saying?" "Take me to the massage parlor." "Are you sure?" "I've never been surer of anything in my life."