Peter walked all the way to the edge of hell just to stick his thumb out and hitchhike back. . .
It started to freeze over. Peter sought shelter in a convenient store shack. Purchased rolling papers off the rack, a handful of lighters from a cute girl at the counter, barely out of diapers.
“I can smell your weed” she states.
Peter starts choking,
toking, on words he wouldn’t say.
She wasn’t elated and plainly stated,
“You have yourself a nice day,’ Then she smiled a real smile, it radiated, ‘…I mean… I know you will,” Happily handed Peter the bill, he stumbled out stupidly back into the chill.
A new idea was a-growing,
he might be enjoying the direction the world was