Peak years
Sitting comfortably on the living room couch you were busily bitting the leafy green bud of outdoor weed into small pieces suitable for rolling. The balcony door was slightly open and through it light gusts of spring wind were blowing your way every now and then. The marijuana was then mixed with a little bit of tobacco and rolled into a tight single-player joint. You get up slowly and scan the table for the lighter which you bring with you to the balcony. Armed with joint and fire you stand outside on the dry wooden surface of the spacious terrace with the spacious view over south-eastern Montreal. True the area is mostly ghetto and a huge abandoned malting factory but the simplistic luxury of space in front of your eyes is satisfied. The budding trees of the backstreet act to brake the liven-up somehow the fake-brick two-story houses with awkwardly shaped gravel rooftops.
Why look downward though? So much easier to focus on the horizon or even better look up to the beautiful blue skies in which a few puffy clouds float — as if painted on. It is 4PM so the sun has almost left your southern looking bastion but when you go to the outermost corner you get the full blast of the last sunrays that this side of the building will see today. Spark. Spark, second attempt and then the thin rice paper takes up in flames and brings the first portion of smoke to your lungs. You breathe out and let the smoke get blown by the wind.
A flash of ideas suddenly comes upon you precipitated by the first batch of nicotine arriving in the brain. This is not a guilty joint. This is a good joint. This is the coming-home-on-the-last-day-of-school joint that you deserve after this heavy semester of Engineering courses. The usual flood of ideas that normally come to your head as artifacts of the THC in your system was also starting to build. “What do you do now?” is the main question that floats in your mind. Should you go out tomorrow and search for job? Clearly you should call up some friends and get drunk to celebrate, but at the same time you should not get carried away because of the one remaining exam scheduled for next week.
On the second or third puff of the joint you hear the front door being shut and soon afterward you see the smiling face of Patrick peek through the terrace door.
“Again with the joint?”, he asks with an inquisitive voice.
“Yeah man, I don’t waste time” you reply to him as you walk towards him to shake his hand. “Are you going to have a puff?”
“Naaah, I’m not up for it right now but I will have a smoke with you.” he replies as he comes outside to the balcony and takes the lighter from your hand.
Spark. Breathe in. The paper and tobacco burn in unison delivering the nicotine payload to the expecting customer.
“Pis? T’as fini la?” he asks expunging the smoke from his lungs.
“Oui man, c’est fini toute l’osti d’anee” you reply and prepare to take another toke from the burning joint which you had so neglected for the past couple of seconds.
You puff on the joint well and think to yourself that this is some pretty good weed since already, after only a few tokes you feel the effects coming over you.
“Well, come to think of it, I think I will have one puff of that thing” says Patrick visibly influenced by the sweet non-chemical smell of your ganja. He takes the joint from your hand and helps himself to a generous lungful. He doesn’t smoke usually but he has clearly felt the good vibe of the moment, the positive energy of the end of the year, the exhilaration at the end of a large undertaking like an technical degree.
You then take the joint back from him and puff on it some more while at the same time eyeing his cigarette which remains largely unsmoked. After a few more silent passes and puffs the joint meets its end. The spirit of passing continues with the nicotine stick which you pull from your roommate’s hand. Do you really want this puff? You guess it is good as an after-burner for the joint so you give-in to the dirty nicotine craving urge.
Then you both lean on the railing and stand there silent for a moment under the effect of both drugs.
“So what about you? Are you done with everything yet?” you inquire.
“Me, I have to go in tomorrow but the semester is mostly done. I have so much work to do for the California guys though so at this point school is the last of my worries.”
“And exams?”
“I have Analysis and some neuro exams” he answers, “but I won’t start thinking about them until next week or so.”
It is hard to share at this point with Patrick the exhilaration you feel about finally being finished with school and out of the claws of the Engineering department. How do you express freedom? Maybe a visit to the depanneur for a 12-pack of good beer is in order at this point? Or an e-mail check? Or some phone calls?
As you brainstorm about what to do next, you suddenly notice the white trace trailing behind an airplane flying up overhead. The cloud-white trace left behind the plane was a perfect example of a chemtrail if you had ever seen one. You point it out to Patrick and he nods.
“They are gassing us again.” he points out.
“Maaan, on a beautiful day like this it is really obvious, fuckin’ bastards!” you add.
You wonder what could possibly be the purpose of this white thing that is being sprayed on top of Montreal.
“Look over there, there is another one!” interjects Patrick.
Indeed, a second plane coming somewhere form north-east has now become visible and the same white substance is being dumped from it in a cloud like trail.
Maybe it is caused by condensation at the lead-out edge of the wings? Or maybe it is water being dumped for meteorological purposes like wind direction? But it sure looks like a chemtrail…
This kind of thing only you the reader can be sure of. What do you believe it is?