Day CXXX

The Innovator

      He got up, ran into the living room, bedroom, bathroom, and collected all his ashtrays. He brought them back into the kitchen, and dumped them on the table. He sat down, took out all the butts, stripped them, took out the ash, charcoal, and separated it from the tobacco. After a moment, he had a neat little pile of tobacco in the middle of the table. I looked at him, and said:

     “Wat na Einstein?”

     He ran back into the living room, and came back with a torn half of a newspaper page.

     “Ya really ain’t gon doodet?”

     “Watch me!” he scowled.

     He put the paper on the table, and went back out to the bedroom. I thought he’d changed his mind, but in his desk he found a glue stick, and brought it back. Then with a pair of scissors he cut a neat square out of the newspaper. Along one side, he gently, and neatly rolled the glue stick; then carefully he spread his harvested tobacco into the middle, and rolled it into the glued side. It looked like a weird joint to me, the print running along the length of it, and bits of the tobacco extending out of both ends.

     “Ya not gonna smoke dat?”

     “Watch me he said,” as he lit up. It stunk like burnt paper, and it really smelled awful.

  “Ah shit, man, you’re stinking up the place…cough, cough cough!” I cried out as I flailed at the air with my arms, trying to fan smoke away from me.

     “Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!” he exhaled. His Jones satisfied, he smirked:

      “Not bad!”

     “Yea dude, ya gon staht ya own bidness na, uh!”

      “Haw haw haw!” we laughed.