If Marc Emery is the Prince of Pot, I'm the King! (upinsmoke) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-06-02 01:42:00 |
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Current music: | remember the day - pink floyd (slightly modified) |
Entry tags: | hippie subculture, marijuana |
Who: Marijuana and Hippie Subculture
Where: Central Park
When: Tuesday afternoon
Warnings: Light cuddling, language, drug use.
Heroin had left as soon as Marijuana started getting ready to leave and Marijuana tried to pour reassurance, love, trust and loyalty into their parting kiss, wanting his lover to know that Hippie was just... not just a friend, but there was no real word for what they were to each other. A part of each other. Deep love, trust, honesty, friendship and - of course - sexuality, but Marijuana's free love aspect was focused, all of it, solely on Heroin. He could control himself around Hippie, control himself under her influence and he didn't know if Heroin quite understood that. Giving Dave a few last instructions and telling Wes that no, he didn't need a bodyguard for a walk in the park, he slung a backpack filled with joints, an MP3 player loaded with all their music and - because Wes would have given him that dark look if he went anywhere unarmed - a suitable Glock hidden under it all, in addition to the one that was strapped to his side.
He didn't know if Hippie wanted to meet him at the Highway or at the park, but he could always feel her, just as she could always feel him, and he set off to the park on his board, unable to stop himself from weaving dangerously in and out of traffic, between pedestrians and up onto railings for tricks and jumps before settling down eventually and rolling at a sedate speed into the edge of the park, hopping off the board and slipping it between backpack and back before taking off the sandals he'd been wearing. No, not skating shoes, but he wasn't worried about falling or anything off the sort. He merely whistled 'Remember the Day' as he walked a bit deeper into the park, exalting in the feeling of trees and plants and wildlife all around him before he plopped himself down on a bench. Lighting up a hash oil joint, he leaned back against the wood, watched the mortals go by and worried about Hippie. LSD was gone, her LSD, and there were no colours anymore. He was worried but he would try to give Hippie as much power, companionship and love as he had to give.