It was one of those nights when the smoke circle was needed.
Not a ceremonial smoke circle where you hope to have visions or signs of prophecies. It was a weed or dabs smoke circle, just to get stoned. The five middle-aged men had been doing it all their lives, so as their bodies aged, their minds did not. They were still idiots, but now in their late fifties. It's sad to be that dumb for more than half your life. Tonight was a special night for the five; it had been a while, but the weed would now be laced with acid. They hadn't done that since their twenties in college, but after you've done dabs, how bad can a bit of laced acid on your weed really be?"Hold on," Danillo said before he started rolling. "We better call out for work tomorrow if we're gonna be this fucked up, right?"
"Pfft!" Henry waved his boyhood friend off. "I scrub floors for the state. Where do you think they will find somebody that quick to take my place? C'mon!"
"Yeah," Mercury agreed. Do you think one of those Japanese supervisors is going to hemo his Tori Richards and scrub floors until they find one replacement? I don't think so."
"I get my 'thing, so I not worried," Mosiah said.
"Oh yeah, your disability," Eric chimed in. "Your anxiety, which is another way of saying drug dealer!"
"It's medical marijuana from a dispensary," Mercury defended his brother. "You cannot deal medical marijuana!"
"You wanna bet?" Danillo laughed. "How do you think Mosiah keeps the lights on in this place? How do you think he pays for his Yota?"
"Shut the fuck up so we can smoke! Jesus, who gives a shit? Just hurry up!" Henry was impatient.
Passing the newly rolled weed around, ensuring everyone got their own, Danillo saved his for last. "I lifted this from my son's safe. I have been watching him for the past couple of months, and I know he deals acid and H and other shit. I figured out the code for his safe so he won't miss five grams."
"Wait, so your son is a dealer? Like a real dealer?" Eric asked.
"Yeah, I mean, he's also into some other weird shit too, like worshiping Satan or so he claims, but basically, he's a dealer," Danillo shrugged.
"We shouldn't be smoking this shit then!" Eric protested. "Even a gram is a couple of thousand dollars. Son, or not, if he sees a gram of his shit is missing, somebody is gonna die! Mainly us if he finds out!"
"Just smoke the shit and shut the fuck up!" Henry bellowed. "I need to get high, and right now!"
Fifteen minutes passed, and everybody was high from the weed but not fucked up from the acid, not at all.
"What the hell is going on?" Mosiah asked. "I mean, I'm high, but where's the unicorns and shit?"
"Yeah, something is missing," Eric agreed.
Everyone else chimed in and began looking at Danillo. "Guess I was wrong; maybe your son won't kill us if he finds a gram missing," Eric said. "This is shit! What kinda dealer is this kid?"
"Well, he's somewhat of a dealer," Danillo explained. "He literally deals out of the back door of his job."
"What's his job?" Henry asked.
"He's a mortician at Pacheco's Funeral home," Danillo said.
All five men began to wretch, cough, throw up, heave, and choke. Some began vibrating, while others had their bones cracking by the joints through the sinew and cartilage. People on a night stroll walked past the garage and heard the sounds, but they saw no one, so they continued on for the evening. Each man's body began to morph into the person's cremated remains, which were laced with marijuana. Danillo became a seventy-eight-year-old Filipino woman while Henry's bulky form shrunk into a three-year-old girl. Mosiah morphed into the corpse of a Portuguese Hawaiian boy from Wai'anae who was decapitated when he lost control of his Jeep on Kaukamama street, sending the vehicle rolling end over end. What came out of Mercury was the body of old Mrs. Nakasone, who was killed by the rolling Jeep, which smashed into one side of her face. What morphed out of Eric was entirely unexpected; it was a horse crushed under a bulldozer. The animal's owner couldn't bear to have it buried, so he asked Danillo's son to have it cremated. Five grams of cremated remains, not five grams of acid, laced for the individual pleasure of five old men who never got over their college days of being stoned as they went through life. Now possessed by the ashes of the dead whose dust they tried to smoke to get high.
Idiots.
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