Behind The Curtain 27: Game Boy And The Home Business – September 15, 2010
By Sharon Letts
Eye Correspondent
Lewis woke up, rolled over and pushed the bag of chips away from the computer screen, knocking an empty can of Rockstar to the living room floor. Peeling a piece of tinfoil away from a corner of the window, he could see it was light outside.
The flashing icon on the screen told him that “Mantas Miller” was ahead again, with “Black Demon” a close third.
“Take that damn wall down, rat bastard!”
It took hours to regain his status. When he was satisfied, he picked up the bong and fumbled for a lighter that worked.
“Bong’s dirty,” he thought, dumping the water into the trash can by the futon. Looking around, he picked up a half-empty can of flat Mountain Dew and refilled the bong with the syrup. “Whatever works,” he muttered, picking up the scissors from the floor and wiping them down with a sock sticking out from under his pillow.
“What’ll it be today, Blueberry Kush or Green Crack?” he wondered aloud, surveying the assortment of mason jars on the coffee table. “I think… Blueberry.”
Lewis cut up a bud and pressed a generous clump of pot into the bowl.
After five bong hits he sat a bit, hit enter, and stared at the computer screen again. “Mantas Miller, die!” he said, pounding the keys and maneuvering the mouse in an attempt to regain points. “You will rue the day you messed with Lewis B. Toklas,” he bellowed at the glowing screen.
Three hours later he paused, wiped the sweat from his forehead, downed the last swig of a warm beer and reached for the bong.
The routine always was the same. It had been 14 days since he last went outside, and three since he showered.
The clock on the wall told him it was 4 o’clock but he wasn’t quite sure if it was early morning or late afternoon, only that he felt hungry.
A pizza box lay on the foot of the bed. Lewis nudged the cat away from inside the box and peeled back a slice from the cardboard.
“Smells alright,” he thought, putting half the slice in his mouth. Bits of pepperoni clung to his chin.
After he finished off the pizza, it was time for a little work.
The hallway was partitioned off with a panel of drapery. Behind the curtain was a doorway leading to the garage and another to his grow.
After dumping the humidifier in to the bathroom sink down the hall he began the tedious task of thinning out the leaves.
“F-it, good enough,” he said standing up from a squatting position. His back hurt from working in the small space too long and the gnats were getting in his ears, nose and mouth.
Even from the hallway he could see the icon flashing. As if in a dream he went to the computer and hit enter. Mantas Miller had signed off. “Pussy,” he said with disdain and sat back down for another round with some guy from Denmark.
Five hours later he reached for the bong and starred at the jars of bud, “Outdoor, organic,” he said, reaching for yet another batch of bud, singing, “One toke over the line, sweet Jesus. One toke over the line… “
