I pulled up at the house. Parking was available right on the street, and as I pulled up, Brendan, Ben, Leo and Johnny waved from the porch. I left the engine on for a second while I rolled up the windows, letting CocoRosie’s new album (five stars) play out a little more. I unloaded the groceries and gave the new Off! candle I bought to Brendan to figure out. True to form, they were too fucked up to figure out how to assemble the damn thing.After the guys left, Brendan handed me a piece of paper. Upon closer examination, it was a page from the Bible. Corinthians, I think? I looked over the verse, the number, it didn’t really register.

“We rolled a fat blunt from the rest of that page,” said Brendan, rubbing his temples.

“You smoked the Bible?” I asked.

It’s not like I’m awfully religious, in fact I really don’t believe in God. Still, I was raised Catholic and this whole idea gave some part of my brain the heebie-jeebies, kind of like that time we were walking through the graveyard on the west side of town to get to the field one night and Johnny knocked over a gravestone. I chalk these kinds of half-conscious superstitions up to my Catholic childhood.

“Yeah,” said Brendan. “It actually held together better than anything I’ve ever used to roll a blunt before.”

“Wow. You guys are going to Hell.” Half-joking, half-serious. I’m kind of glad I don’t smoke pot anymore, because I’m sure I would and then regret it later. I’m the kind of person who does things like that on a lark and then ends up thinking about them forever. Perfect Catholic material, I think.

Anyway – last night. I have groceries, my friends smoked the Bible. I wonder if smoking the Bible is a little like eating the brains of your slain enemies to gain a little of their power. Maybe Brendan, Ben, Leo and Johnny now have a little more holy in them?

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