"We were wrong? When were we wrong?"
"Well, not wrong. Just..."
Kief:
Tarballs:
“You probably need to sign something.” Certainly not an outrageous response to the hypothetical question of who might unexpectedly buzz my downstairs door?; though several others such as:
"Maybe one of your neighbor’s is locked out."
or perhaps
"Someone’s probably got the wrong apartment," seem at least equally plausible (to name a few).
But no, Jules said “If its the postman, you’ll probably need to sign,” and now here I was moments later confronted with a young postman and his e-pad signature system strapped over his shoulder. So it didn’t take a great investigator to make the connection. Or a connection.
What was more difficult to decide was whether to accept the envelope. Sign for it. Think about it reader--an unknown, unexpected package, most likely from Jules, sent via U.S. mail, that required your signature. Would you accept it? Especially after you finally got rid of him?
Hmmmm.
But I have to admit my investigator’s curiosity was piqued. And God damn-it, my hungover mind was locked! I couldn’t think fast enough and wasn’t up for even minor confrontation so early in my day.
“Listen, are you Lodo Grdzak or not? Otherwise I’ll ring the right apartment. I’m not sure what the confusion is here.”
“Its not about confusion...”
“...Whatever,” the kid said as I eventually accepted the envelope and scribbled a purposefully distorted signature on his e-pad. As he turned and left, I stood in the doorway in expectation of...I’m not really sure.
Yet even after I returned to my apartment I didn’t open the envelope. Not right away. Instead I placed it on my table and stared at the shipping label. From Aaron Rodgers of Seattle, Washington.
Course eventually I had to see what was behind door # 1, so I tore open the adhesive strip, reached inside the envelope, and pulled-out two, vacuum-sealed bags full of a brown/tannish powder. Due to the sealed-packaging it was impossible to smell what was inside, and even after I retrieved my scissors and opened it I still wasn’t entirely sure what I had. The fragrant contents smelled like weed, but it was brown and all ground-up. I couldn’t locate even a single green bud or THC crystal; and the consistency was heavy; not light-shake as crushed weed would have been.
Still, that’s what I thought I had. Kief as the kids call it. To vape in my vaporizer. And now I had a lot of it.
In fact, as I stared at the two completely-filled, 8” x 10” bags my eyes blinked incredulously, and my emotions went up. Then down. Then sort of all over the place. As though Jules never left.
There’s gotta be over an ounce of this shit between the two of these bags.
Its enough to last months!
And he sent it all in the mail.
This’ll save you 500 bucks. Maybe more.
That pays for your health insurance right there.
Plus we’ve got weed for months!
And he just used regular old mail.
Its weird, what is it?
Its weed. ...Gotta be weed. What else would it be?
Its that kief for the vaporizer.
Man, he sent a lot of it.
I know!
I wonder what we mailed.
Its weed, what else can it be?
But I mean, did we mail weed?
When?
When we mailed that envelope for Jules. What’d we mail?
...I don’t know.
Cause I might have to beat his ass if we did that.
You would?
Yeah man. If Jules used us to put weed in a mailbox? We could lose our investigator’s license. We’d never get bonded. It’d be a big deal.
...Well, lets not rush to judgment.
Why shouldn’t we?
‘Cause we’ve been wrong ‘bout Jules every time we did that.
We were? When were we wrong?
Well, not wrong. Just...I don’t know. We don’t even know what this is!
That’s true. ...Maybe we need to vape some.
Now that’s a great idea!
So I fired-up my expensive new vaporizer that I bought to save my 9/11 ravaged lungs; dropped a bit of the kief in there to vape.
Got the momentum going...
Took a deep pull...
And oh...wow! The light, flowery taste. The perfumed smell. The leaden buzz that quickly seeped into my muscles and gave me heavy limbs.
HASH! Are you kidding me? Hash?! Oh man, I haven’t seen that in the States in forever. I mean, maybe you can get some out in Colorado--at one of those clinics; but never in my 10 years of New York have I encountered it.
Yet the taste was undeniable.
I eased back into my leather office chair and proceeded to vape the rest of what I’d put in the machine, when:
Ring, ring.
Ring, ring.
Ring, ring.
Ring, ring.
“Hey Buttons.”
“Lodo!--sweetheart. Did you get those documents from my boyfriend Aaron Rodgers?” (laughs)
“Uh,...yeah. I think I did. Didn’t expect that.
“I know, right? Don’t you just love it?”
“Well,..sort of. Yeah, I suppose. Though I have to say, I’m a little surprised by the amount of docs you sent, if you get my mea...”
“Lodo! Did I hear Buttons say you got those papers we sent you?!”
(heavy sigh) “Uh, yeah. Hey Jules, I got ‘em. Thanks,..I guess. But listen, do you really think its smart to...”
“No need to thank me brother. You’re family now.”
“Wow Jules. Okay. But again, I mean, I was surprised when I saw the amount of...”
“There’s more where that came from brother. You want more? I can call my guy and have him send anoth..”
“No Jules, that’s not what I’m saying at all. In fact, just the oppos...”
“No worries brother. I’ll call my guy when our flight lands. We’re just getting ready to boar...”
“No Jules, shut up and listen to what I’m sayi...”
“What? I can’t hear you Lodo--they’re boarding our plane right now. Glad you got that and I’ll call my guy after we land!”
“No Jules! Would you listen for a sec...”
But he’d already hung-up the phone.
...Freaking guy. Things certainly weren’t gonna be the same without him, and you can bet I was rather thankful for that.
Still, as I sat in my ergonomic, leather chair and vaped the last of what I ‘d thrown in my machine, my mellow high made it hard to keep the anger up.
How much fun was that Cotto fight?
Which he paid for with that credit card.
So what? Has anyone tried to contact us about that? Its over.
There’s still time.
How ‘bout that crab meat and the pheasant under glass? When’s the next time we’ll eat that?
I’m not sure we ever had it before.
True, true. And what about that Dave Douglas show? Will you ever forget that in a billion years?
How could I? We’ve got all those discs Jules bought us.
I doubt Dave Douglas will forget it either.
That’s a shared story we have for sure.
But what about that envelope we mailed?
What about it? It was already a week ago. Wherever it was going, it got there. Besides, who knows what was in it? We’re just assuming.
Cause we got all this hash!
Indeed we do.
By now my mood had flipped. I inspected the two large bags of hash and couldn’t contain the big smile that came across my face.
This will last months.
And its so freaking good! I guess that Jules was alright after all. For a week anyway.
I shared a laugh with myself as I slowly continued to draw on my vaporizer and again reviewed the events of the last week. Each memory instigated a chuckle or light-hearted groan as I pulled hit after hit off my machine.
But suddenly it became hard to get a draw out of it. Each pull yielded less and less vape; and soon I couldn’t even get any air through the tube. Like it was stopped up.
I turned off the machine, let the stem cool down, then inspected the specially made, ceramic screen.
What the...?
Unlike weed, the hash inside my machine had become all sticky and gummy when heated. Like a tar-ball. It literally fused itself to the glass stem and plastic tube; and it gummed-up the specially made ceramic screen.
I tried to clean the screen, but it was hopeless; nor would it have mattered anyway since the glass stem that draws the vape was now ensconced in a thick layer of impenetrable, hardened black goo, which now rendered the whole $300 dollar machine useless.
I stared at the gummed-up works of my vaporizer still not grasping that it was ruined. That took time.
But eventually I found myself at the sink where I fruitlessly scrubbed at the damaged equipment. As I did so my focus shifted back to those two big bags of hash that now lay on my kitchen counter, and I was left with the sense that Jules hadn't gone anywhere at all.
"Margarito!"
Cotto!
* WRITER'S NOTE: The fact-to-fiction ratio of this blog is not one I wish to discuss. That said, there is one. Don't believe everything you read.
**ADDITIONAL NOTE: All pics (with the exception of those in which I appear) were stolen off Google Images and are included simply to enhance the story. Copyrights may exist.
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