A few weeks had passed, and it was going better than usual since Wilbur promised you he’d try to stop smoking. He had managed to stay away from weed for a few weeks now, and he genuinely thought he was doing better. And then came the cravings. And in a moment of weakness, he lit a joint, and that’s the moment you found him. Standing outside on the back porch late at night, leaning against the wall with a lit joint in his hand, smoke blowing from his mouth.