(no subject)
In truth, Lennox didn't think anyone else noticed, but about a week ago, he'd realized something important. It wasn't life changing, it wasn't even substantial outside the realm of Lennox's head, but it still meant something. Since waking up on January sixth, he hadn't once had the urge to smoke a joint. He'd continued to grow it, still took care of his garden, cured his stash, handed it out to anyone who asked and supplied his regulars, but he hadn't smoked any of it himself.
That didn't mean he was sober, of course. Shaun, godsend that he'd turned out to be, made sure Lennox was getting a steady supply of beer and ice cream. Beer was easy, it was simple. It wasn't something that reminded him of Chris or Long Bay every single time he looked at it. Pot was their thing. It was the thing he'd done with Chris and Eddie and Neil for as long as he could remember and yeah, they'd gotten drunk, too, but the pot had been different. Besides curling, pot had been the common thread that had linked their lives together
Or maybe he was just drunk and was lending way too much significance to a simple joint.
On the beach, a mostly empty bottle dangling from between two fingers, Lennox was watching Hal and King roll around in the sand. The fading light caught his wedding band and he set the bottle down to take it off, then put it back on again. He didn't know what to do with it. Was he still married? Widowed? He took the ring off again and set it on the top of the beer bottle.
King trampled through the sand toward Lennox and he lifted his hand, rubbing the puppy's ears as he sang absently under his breath. He felt a little woozy, probably from the beer, but he didn't think he was too drunk. Certainly not drunk enough to be dancing on tables like he might have done once.
"Let's play Twister, let's play Risk," he murmured to the dog, then laughed. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah."
King barked in response, tail wagging, then tore through the sand toward someone nearby and Lennox groaned, tipping his head in that direction. "Sorry!" he called. "He won't bite!"
That didn't mean he was sober, of course. Shaun, godsend that he'd turned out to be, made sure Lennox was getting a steady supply of beer and ice cream. Beer was easy, it was simple. It wasn't something that reminded him of Chris or Long Bay every single time he looked at it. Pot was their thing. It was the thing he'd done with Chris and Eddie and Neil for as long as he could remember and yeah, they'd gotten drunk, too, but the pot had been different. Besides curling, pot had been the common thread that had linked their lives together
Or maybe he was just drunk and was lending way too much significance to a simple joint.
On the beach, a mostly empty bottle dangling from between two fingers, Lennox was watching Hal and King roll around in the sand. The fading light caught his wedding band and he set the bottle down to take it off, then put it back on again. He didn't know what to do with it. Was he still married? Widowed? He took the ring off again and set it on the top of the beer bottle.
King trampled through the sand toward Lennox and he lifted his hand, rubbing the puppy's ears as he sang absently under his breath. He felt a little woozy, probably from the beer, but he didn't think he was too drunk. Certainly not drunk enough to be dancing on tables like he might have done once.
"Let's play Twister, let's play Risk," he murmured to the dog, then laughed. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah."
King barked in response, tail wagging, then tore through the sand toward someone nearby and Lennox groaned, tipping his head in that direction. "Sorry!" he called. "He won't bite!"