Writing Boots

On communication, professional and otherwise.

Cheech, all day long

06.06.2016 by David Murray // Leave a Comment

It was once funny when you smelled marijuana smoke on the street. Funny, because it was rare.

Scout smelled pot smoke a couple of years ago as we sat in traffic on Roosevelt Road, and thought it was a skunk.

She knows better now. Now she knows she lives in a world full of people smoking dope. The other day we jogged past an apartment building and got a big whiff. At seven a.m.

Because now, in a Chicago summertime, the sweet smell—in the car or on the sidewalk, is at least once-a-day occurrence.

"Dad, did you smell that?"

"Yep," I say, trying to keep from showing that I'm drawing it deep into my nostrils.

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