. . .
But first, I just had to eat. I’m no liberal, Boulderite tree-humper, but I must compliment the hummus. One of the first times I had hummus was on a first date a few many years back. We had been hiking up Mt. Evans for about 9 hours now, 2 hours after our safety window to reach the summit. Nonetheless, we made it the 14-some odd thousand feet to the summit and settled down for lunch. She brought hummus. It was good.
Not long into our dining experience, I noticed our host bring over something rather exquisite looking, though not wholly unfamiliar. To the young couple at our neighboring table. As she set the artifact on the floor, handing the young woman a long, narrow and finely painted hand-piece with a silver tip, I couldn’t help but wonder, what the fu*k was taking so long for my food. My primal concern was soon overshadowed as this young woman takes a huuuuge hit off what turned out to be quite an attractive, antique-looking bong.
I immediately reach for the dessert menu, wondering just what it was that she had ordered, soon to be turned off by the apparent mechanical trouble this particular bong was having. It seems as whatever brick was on the burner, was fresh and functioning properly, but understandably, antiques are just that. Antique.
So with the snap of our Lebanese friends’ fingers, and the click of her hips, we see a new 3-footer appear. Covered in jewels and painted in colors and patterns that just don’t go together, this new bong was sure to provide her with whatever it was she wanted her bong to provide, and I was again turned on. Not so much by the fact that she was obviously quickly losing her ability to do complex math, but by the simple opportunity this dining establishment provides for one to just get freakin’ baked. A far cry from my native land in the suburbs of Denver. Puff, puff give, my friend. Puff, puff give.
Alas, our meal arrived and was soon devoured. Just like our friendly neighbor. And as I briefly overhear her say, ‘My eyes are buggin’ out,’ we begin to discuss and question the validity of all those second-hand smoke studies. I can’t quite recall how much time this took up, but we soon notice that the 3 o’clock hour was encroaching, giving us 1 more hour of walking-around-looking-at-stuff time. Also, it began to rain.
. . .
But first, I just had to eat. I’m no liberal, Boulderite tree-humper, but I must compliment the hummus. One of the first times I had hummus was on a first date a few many years back. We had been hiking up Mt. Evans for about 9 hours now, 2 hours after our safety window to reach the summit. Nonetheless, we made it the 14-some odd thousand feet to the summit and settled down for lunch. She brought hummus. It was good.
Not long into our dining experience, I noticed our host bring over something rather exquisite looking, though not wholly unfamiliar. To the young couple at our neighboring table. As she set the artifact on the floor, handing the young woman a long, narrow and finely painted hand-piece with a silver tip, I couldn’t help but wonder, what the fu*k was taking so long for my food. My primal concern was soon overshadowed as this young woman takes a huuuuge hit off what turned out to be quite an attractive, antique-looking bong.
I immediately reach for the dessert menu, wondering just what it was that she had ordered, soon to be turned off by the apparent mechanical trouble this particular bong was having. It seems as whatever brick was on the burner, was fresh and functioning properly, but understandably, antiques are just that. Antique.
So with the snap of our Lebanese friends’ fingers, and the click of her hips, we see a new 3-footer appear. Covered in jewels and painted in colors and patterns that just don’t go together, this new bong was sure to provide her with whatever it was she wanted her bong to provide, and I was again turned on. Not so much by the fact that she was obviously quickly losing her ability to do complex math, but by the simple opportunity this dining establishment provides for one to just get freakin’ baked. A far cry from my native land in the suburbs of Denver. Puff, puff give, my friend. Puff, puff give.
Alas, our meal arrived and was soon devoured. Just like our friendly neighbor. And as I briefly overhear her say, ‘My eyes are buggin’ out,’ we begin to discuss and question the validity of all those second-hand smoke studies. I can’t quite recall how much time this took up, but we soon notice that the 3 o’clock hour was encroaching, giving us 1 more hour of walking-around-looking-at-stuff time. Also, it began to rain.
. . .
