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

You were at your best friend, Luke's house. 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?" he asked, passing the grass back to you while he leaned against the back of the couch.

"Mastered the art of it a long time ago." You said sarcastically, closing your eyes as you took a long puff of the weed.

Luke 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 Luke.

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

You snorted, swatting Luke's hand. "I ain't a wet dog, prick..." 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 Luke didn't live with Luke's brothers, Quinn and Jack. 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 Luke of all people was a hell of a time. It was your favorite thing to do on a Friday night.