I had run (almost literally) into him. When my roommate wanted to go to the bathroom - again - I almost grumbled, just meet us up by the stage. But then I thought, oh well, I guess I'm supposed to meet someone over there. And, I did.
My boy and I had been trying to connect all day, but neither of us had a working cell phone.
"I told you I'd find you and help you out," I laugh as he teeters a bit.
But I do not have any papers, he sad-faces.
I pulled a joint out of my purse and slip it in his jacket pocket.
"Yes," I smile, "I know, I love you too."
We all squeeze in, even sliding over to let a third person wedge into a two person row.
"How fabulous would it be to hot box this bus right now?" I comment.
My roommate asks if I still had a joint left.
"Why, as a matter of fact, I do." I pull it out, scanning out the window. We borrow a lighter, he sparks it, we each take a toke. Then pass it back.
A few rows later, someone hollers, "Do you want this back?"
"Nah, pass it back."
When I start to tell a friend about it the next day, she interrupts, "Yeah, so and so said someone was smoking out on the shuttle."
"That was us!" I squeal.