Trudeau's Army

Jimi came by Thursday night. Usually when he comes by Thursday he wants to drink my fucking beer. Not this time.

"What do you mean you quit fucking drinking?" I asked as he started explaining just that.

"What happened is I visited Jack in this long term care place he is stuck in until he fucking dies. The stroke he had was a motherfucker. Half his old self is dead. Won't be long until the rest of him joins his dead half," he explained.

Jack is an old Coffin Cheater. Lived hard. 70th birthdays are hard on such fuckers if they make it.

"So what are you going to do?" I asked.

"Smoke weed I guess," Jimi shrugged before he pulled a quarter ounce of hash out of his shirt pocket.

"Where did you get that shit from?" I asked.

"From Jack. Everybody in his new place smokes weed. When I took him outside for a smoke there were more people smoking up than before a sock hop in high school."

Pot smoking assholes. Fuck them. More beer for me, I thought, as I drank my beer and watched the hash put a smile on yet another man fighting in Trudeau's Army.