…rather tries to speak, but no words are formed, no ideas presented, just the same unfocusing gaze, accompanied by a facial expression of angst when no talk spills forth.
The barista smiles.
Welcome to Montana 2015.
Marijuana is legal in coffee shops and, well, things have changed at the Bud and Bean. Selective breeding of marijuana plants has produced some fantastical strains.
Baristas, many of them longtime Mary-Jane patients themselves, have taken to altering the mood of their customers to manage the coffee-house atmosphere.
Some people are served beverages that allow them to hear what they want to hear, and others are given infusions to take away vocal expression. Guest musicians are easily persuaded, as they will drink anything Mary-Jane gives them.
In the underground press it is being reported that some of the local farmers have taken to using a special blood imported from Slovakia to fertilize some of the trendier sativa strains, and with Twilight affects.
Listen, dear readers and writers, listen outside.
With the right ears you can hear that Bozeman’s widely acclaimed endurance barking has been replaced by endurance howling, and it isn’t the hounds howling, it is the humans. Oh, MaryJane, what have you done to our town?
“What can I get for you, comrade?” MaryJane asks. It’s my turn, I guess, soon to be yours.
“Hi, MaryJane, could you please get me a de-canib with organic milk, please. Remember to hold the funny stuff. I need to write a story tonight.”
“Good luck with that, cowboy. Gonzo is rolling in his grave.”
I toss a dollar in the tip jar, but still, she serves me up some lucidity.
