kb-publishing.com presents KPOT

By W.M. Stickell O.M. copy rights 2021

kb-publishing.com

I was standing, at a bus stop. It was the last stop on the route before it turned around and became a different bus. I usually can get a free ride back into the city, by the regular driver. It had to be close to 11 pm. The stop was in a rural area that was zoned for industrial, but new, so it did not have going on yet very much with a whole lot of structures, this also meant there was not a great deal of lighting either. The stop had some woods just behind it, and it could seem ominous some nights, or even creepy. With there being no traffic, it made it that much more to subjected thoughts of a old horror flick. I then started to hear something. It was a bit off, but I thought I could hear someone say “get the fuck out of here”, and it was kind of loud. Then I could hear more, and the sound was as if there were several people walking through the woods. Within several seconds I could see some figures coming my way, through the woods, just behind the bus stop. I have never really explored that specific area, as to see were it came out or how much area did it really cover. I could start making out the first figure. At a distance, you could start to conclude that this dude was homeless. He had a sheet, or blanket, that was a dingy white hanging around his neck. This is indicative to the homeless downtown, especially early in the mornings, when they would be rolling out of their spot they had for the night, to go to a spot where they might serve the homeless something to eat and drink for breakfast, it would usually be somewhere around or in a church. The guy had long black knotted up hair, he was mainly quit, it was the several behind him, including a chick that were the ones that seemed to be loud. As they all finally came into sight, there were 13, or maybe 14? I could see someone running from them, still in the woods. As they all finally came into better light and out of the woods, one of them was still speaking on whoever they had chased off. I could hear him mutter angerly about ” a fucking snitch” and how “they should kill himself”, it was kind of negative, and this all made me on high alert. 12 guys and one chick, all looking homeless, just came out of the woods at 11 pm, so yeah I was weary as hell.

The guy who lead the group out, began to speak, as though he was replying to the other guy mumbling toward the back. He stated that ” the damage had been done, and that they all knew he was going to do it”. The whole time when he was saying these things, he never took his eyes off me, and I never took mine of him, only using my peripheral vision to see the others. The group and the one in front, came closer, with the chick just behind the leader. When he got within ten feet he smiled, and spoke to me, ” hey you got a bowl?” Immediately the one who was mumbling before blurted out, ” wait till your Father hears about this”! The lead dude said back to him, ” well my father should be here soon to pick me up”, “we need to go meet up with him, and I am sure he has already heard about it”. He then looked directly at me, and asked again, “you got a bowl”? I looked at him, with a suspicious face, and squinty eyes, and replied, “like a weed smoking bowl”? He nodded and said “yeah”! I did, but was a little skeptic, and did not see this dude’s angle, or who he was in all actuality. But weed is and always been the best for being a friend maker. So, I was like ” I sure do”. I pulled the bowl out from my jeans pocket, still packed, with some fresh green. I handed it to him and said here you get first green. He smiled and asked if I had a lighter, I laughed and said, “maybe I should just smoke it”, as I giggled. I handed him my lighter, that was in the same pocket, and he lit the bowl. The dude smoked my whole bowl, in one hit. I looked at him, with a sad look, and said, “dude that was my last bowl, and I didn’t even get a hit”. He gave me a reassuring smile, and said, “no worries Bro”! Then pulled a small, burlap type of string drawn purse. In there he pulled out this beautifully red, green, and purple bud of cannabis. It glistened with the light reflecting of the abundance of trichome. I could easily smell the most pungent weed I have ever smelled. My mouth literally began to water, he told me to empty the ash out of my bowl, and give it to him, I did as so. He barely took a pinch of the small. but very dense looking bud and put it in my bowl. He then started to tell me about this strain, and how it had been in his family for so many generations, that he couldn’t remember how long ago it was, when a distant ancestor of his, discovered it in this specific mount range. I am guessing somewhere in the middle east, I really couldn’t understand the names he was saying, I was unfamiliar with the region he was mentioning. He said that this relative of his was roaming about on this mountain that was owned by his people, and came across this bushy, and very thick with vegetation, that it stood out. He continued to say how the red hairs made it look as though it was on fire, and he said, “it is fire”! He then went on, and said, “my family is the only one with this specific strain, no one else has it, and it is “heavenly”! He then handed me the bowl, and said “smoke this, and you will know that I am telling the truth”. I went to put it to my mouth, and I could already taste the terrapenes, and I looked at him, as if I already knew, how good it was. He then said, “you look for this weed, you will find me, if you find this weed, you will find me”. “My father is coming to pick me up, and take me back home, to his mansion, where there is an eternal abundance of this one and only, heavenly bud”.

I took as big of hit as I could hold in my lungs, and it was exactly what he said it would be, “Heavenly”! I can’t remember much more than that. I woke up around 5:30 in the morning, and cannot remember how I got home, or going to bed. I could not remember nothing after that hit. I have not gotten that whole encounter out of my head. Even years later I frequent homeless places where they are known to gather, in hope to come across him, and his weed again. Occasionally, when I tell this story to other homeless people, one will pop up and say that they have come across them before and that they heard they all went up north to where his father’s place is. I think that’s what I am going to do, go up north and look for this dude and his Father, and see if I can score some more of that Heavenly weed!