Just for the record, you do not have to walk me to class every day. Or at all. The awkward conversation as we smoke on the steps waiting for the other to walk away raises my anxiety level for the rest of the day. I can tell that you’re uncomfortable, that you do not know what to say, and it’s fine. You do not have to walk me to class every day. Or at all.
And we don’t have to get high anymore. It’s getting too difficult to remember who’s going to be the proprietor this week. I hate smoking joints anyway, and hiding from the cops in the woods seems so juvenile. Plus, when you’re high you get quiet, and the silence creates tension I can’t handle. So we don’t have to get high anymore.