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Sunspot

He would come home and pull the drapes hanging up over the dirty window, blocking the sun except for a small sliver that spun through the haze and lay softly on the bedspread like a sleeping kitten. Under the bed he kept a punctured beer can and a small, dove-tailed wooden box that held his stash. The ritual would begin. Long white fingernails delicately peeling open the plastic baggie and extracting the small green buds. The careful placement of the weed on the can and the balancing act as he flicked his lighter. Long slow inhale. Feeling the smoke hit his lungs, making him slightly nauseous. Head held back, throat exposed and eyes closed as the soft creeping buzz came over him. Starting first in his head, a warm mellow feeling, the heightened sensations, the placement of the moment and a trembling sick hum. A quick glance backward, something forbidden, long lost years that had grown into even longer years evaporated in a heartbeat.