They need fresh air
I was in Santa Cruz recently, or more exactly, in Capitola. There are many trailer parks near the water. At 11 o'clock AM a couple- a middle aged white alcoholic and his 6ft tall monumental American Indian wife were sitting on a stone bench on a cliff in Pleasure Point, Capitola, near the scribbles and dry flowers in the memory of the surfer Jay Moriarty.
After about 30 minutes of silence, the husband said: "These weeds do not grow in our back yard. They need fresh air." Then he crazily looked around, totally disoriented, and repeated approximately 40 times with his huskily drunken voice "They need fresh air".
Then his big wife took him by his hand, and they walked back to their back yard, where they do not grow.
After about 30 minutes of silence, the husband said: "These weeds do not grow in our back yard. They need fresh air." Then he crazily looked around, totally disoriented, and repeated approximately 40 times with his huskily drunken voice "They need fresh air".
Then his big wife took him by his hand, and they walked back to their back yard, where they do not grow.