Shoulder tappin’ 2 liter bottles of wine coolers to drink in the park 
stumbling home picking bouquets from people’s gardens for your mom 
so she couldn’t be mad we were late

Stealing the asthma inhalers from your mom’s gay housemate’s room 
taking hits and falling backwards on the futon 
laughing our faces off 

The goldmine score from your mom’s grower boyfriend 
a giant bag of shake and stems so harsh but we didn’t care 
we would roll joint after joint then go sit in the dark garage 
in the broke down vw squareback and listen 
to The Doors on a boombox and pretend we were driving to California 

Forging notes that said, Please allow my daughter 
to buy one pack of Camel filter hard packs 
signed with your mom’s name and a phone number 
that they never called 
before handing over the smokes 

Riding around the deep southeast with weird older dudes smoking out the windows 
walking everywhere miles and miles because the bus was too bright 
on hot nights when you are 
on acid rolling on people’s well manicured boxwood hedges 
bouncing effortlessly between them 
we coined the term “joiinkling” our faces would hurt so bad from laughing so hard 
or maybe it was the strychnine 

It would be later that we would inevitably get taken down a notch from all this 
by cops, weird dudes, bad drugs, worried parents, our terrible habits 
sinking their teeth in 

But we were invincible that summer

Anna is an Oregon lifer and lover currently accumulating barnacles and laughing till it hurts on the south coast.