I don't remember much of a story, just the bare bones. I was living here on Stonehedge with Sharon. We had been growing weed for several years and had quite a stockpile. Over my objections, Sharon decided to call one of those cannabis delivery guys to place an order for some dispensary quality weed.
"But we have tons of this stuff, honey," I protested. "Why would you want to insult me to my face by going to an outside source?"
"I'd like some fresh green, please," she told the person on the other end of the phone, answering my question while ignoring me at the same time.
That's about it. I woke up soon thereafter, unable to remember much else from the dream, the image of a jar of high quality pot and the sound Sharon's voice, the only scraps preserved in my memory banks.
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I've changed my comments settings to allow for anyone to comment. All comments are welcome, even spineless potshots from anonymous posters. Please, by all means, give me the tongue lashing I so richly deserve. I promise not to hunt you down and melt your keyboard with my plasma cannon. I won't, however, promise not to pout and make that face you can't stand.