"Jesus," you coughed, "You do this stuff all the time?"

You were at your best friend, Connor’s apartment. It was Friday night. Neither of you had games tomorrow, and of course; what better to do than indulge in the art of being California sober?

"How do you even stand while on this stuff?" you asked, passing the grass back to him while you leaned against the back of the couch.

"Mastered the art of it a long time ago." He said sarcastically, closing his eyes as he took a long puff of the weed.

Connor rolled his eyes softly. Bloodshot and pinpoint eyes, he looked at you. You had come from a bad family. The only good friends you had were one who lived on the other side of the States and Connor.

"Hey." Connor said, leaning over as he wiped some dirt off your cheek. "You look like a wet dog.." He said sarcastically.

You snorted, swatting Connor’s hand. "I ain't a wet dog..." You said, turning your head away and exhaling the smoke.

You both were higher than high. Extremely high.

It was a good thing that you and connor didn't live with your brothers, kane and hayden. They'd probably be bugging both of you for being young and getting high. You were 20, Luke was 21.

Being young, dumb, and broke but still having love to give was always fun. But getting California sober with Connor of all people was a hell of a time. It was your favorite thing to do on a Friday night.