One night Greg Norris and I sat in this park and smoked pot, while we waited for Harry Keller to join us. Greg was a weed dealer and my friend and soon he would graduate to coke dealer and my anti-friend. When this happened, he was still dealing weed and we sat in the park and smoked, and smoked, and smoked, and then I received a phone call.
I said to Greg: “It’s Harry.” I held up my phone and showed him.
Greg squinted at the screen. “Who?”
I hit send and said: “Hey, where are you?”
“You won’t believe what I just found,”
I hung up the phone and looked at Greg, who was packing another bowl.
“You won’t believe what he just found,” I said.
“Who??” Greg said.
“Harry. You won’t believe what he just found.”
“What did he find?”
I said into the mouthpiece. “What d’you find?”
Silence. There was no response.
I looked at the screen and all I saw was the time: 12:23 AM.
“We must have got cut off.”
“Okay. Did you just say you found something?”
“Harry,” I repeated. “Harry found——”
My phone rang. I jumped. Greg chuckled.
“Hey, Greg wants to know what you just found.”
“That,” Harry said. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
I clicked END, then said: “That’s what he’s been trying to tell me.”
“Harry,” I said, getting pissed now.
“Oh, okay,” Greg said, as he sparked his Bic and centered it over the bowl.
I looked at the phone and realized we’d been disconnected again.
“Shit, I really need to get a new phone.”
Greg exhaled a plume of smoke. He handed me the pipe. It was colorful and squiggly.
I took a hit. My phone rang. It was Harry again.
“Yeah?” I said, and coughed twice.
“Where’d you go?”
“Where did you go?” My voice was scratchy.
Then he spurted: “I found a couch on the side of the street.”
“Oh,” I said, then coughed again. And again. And then I couldn’t stop coughing and retching.
So for the rest of the night we sat on the couch till the sun decided to show itself, and when it did, we were filthy, and I think I hopped on the train to Harvard Square.