My fenced yard is full of parents and their offspring. I'm standing at the far corner of the house with Dire, Timber, and Ironhide, passing a blunt between us.
"Are we bad parents for tokin' at a kid's party?" Ironhide holds the blunt up, staring at the cherry with furrowed brows, then shrugs and takes his hit.
Dire, Timber, and I c***k up laughing. For the last seven months, these are the only moments any of us really put the stress on hold and just be family. When it comes to pot, though, I'm one of the few brothers that smoke regularly. Well, me and Throttle. The rest of the club is mostly the on-a-rare-occasion smokers. I think I've gotten Shamrock to smoke with me like ten times in our whole lives.
It chills me out, though, and I need that relaxation right now.
"Uh . . .
