Smoke drifted about around him, filling the crevices and corners of his apartment. Legs, sprawled out across his small couch, was enjoying his day thus far. Not much had happened, however, he took solace in a day where his thoughts weren't so muddled. Looking outside his open window, he admired the sheer heat of the day. Unusually hot, however, Legs enjoyed the warmth. He set down his new favorite utensil (a homemade bong constructed out of an old Jameson bottle and a cheap diffuser he made out of a pen and a metal piece) and admired it briefly. "Ha..." he mumbled, "I truly am some sort of craftsman... and damn, this pack is loud". By then the pipe had grown filthy: with murky water and the streaks and taints of carcinogens, it didn't stand out in an equally dirty environment. Legs, however, had been getting cleaner.
He reminisced over his past and what had led him to where he was. At age 16 is when he first smoked the rock. A novice drug user at the time, it was a huge jump from the mid-quality cannabis and mushrooms he had experimented with beforehand. It was both the best, and the worst day of his life. Why he even tried it in the first place, he still contemplated. It had led him down a bumpy road: one full of of struggles, relapses, and what ultimately led to his family abandoning him completely at age 19. He was 25 as of then.
The memories brought back a sting that he had been trying to tuck away. That, and the thoughts of his first times using the rock instilled an urge to get back into it. He resisted the urge, thinking of what was best for him, and with that, thought it fit to acquire dinner.
His apartment's food supply consistently remained sparse to non-existent. Due to such, he had developed an affinity for K-Roger's fried chicken: a nice, wholesome meal that was both warm and satisfying. Legs got up to step outside and venture forth. He stubbed his toe on his table as he got up, however, knocking down and shattering his homemade bong. "Dammit!", he shouted. Flustered, he thought it best to leave and clean up later. Upon leaving his apartment, however, he was startled by the presence of his friend Lane and a girl he did not recognize.
"Legs, my man! I thought I smelled Snoop Dogg around here", said Lane.
Legs chuckled. "Yeah, about that... I hope the 3rd floor residents don't mind. I got a complaint last week, but I don't know by whom".
The girl shifted nervously as Lane and Legs greeted each other. Legs thought he had that effect on people, making them uncomfortable. He looked past it though, as the girl seemed to be an acquaintance of Lane. Lane was only one of a few of Legs' friends, however, Legs appreciated the fact that they shared a neighborly bond.
"Well, any-who, I'm off to get some chicken at K-Roger's", said Legs.
"Fried chicken, you say?", exclaimed Lane, "Why, we were about to indulge on some leftover chicken upstairs in my apartment. Care to join?"
It was 7:00 or thereabout, and Legs' near-empty stomach was rumbling at the thought of food.
"I'd be delighted", said Legs, graciously accepting the offer of free food.
The trio went upstairs and ate the chicken in Lane's apartment. Legs thought that Lane had a much more well-maintained living space, however, he fully knew that Lane was a drug user himself. He kept to his own business though, as he thought it futile to get involved in other peoples' affairs.
After the dinner had concluded, Legs returned to his apartment. He and Lane had simply joked around and caught up during the meal, with little attempts made at getting to know the girl. Apparently her name was Chelsea. That's all that Legs knew. Settling down in his apartment, he looked outside only to see lights raining from the heavens, in a spectacle most uncommon. "Funny, I'm not even smoking rocks", he thought as he gazed into the sky.