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Summary
“Are you doing okay?” You finally turn to him, and he moves to look at you, but somehow he’s ended up on the cushy rug on the floor and he can’t see you from this vantage point.
“Yeah.” He replies, smacking his lips from how dry his mouth has gone. “We smoked the same shit didn’t we?” He asks, furrowing his eyebrows and again trying to look up at you, but he can’t see over the seat of the couch.
You lean forward and he mewls in happiness at seeing your pretty face again. “Yeah, man.” Your laugh rings out in the shed and it covers him like a warm blanket. He could listen to that sound forever and never tire of it. “Didn’t think I’d have a higher tolerance than the weedman himself, but here we are, huh?”