virginia 1:4

Six-year-old Jack and I had rolled our pants above the knees, and we were wading around in a pond down from the highway when Jill came back from her peeing expedition deep into the forest. Look, she said. She was holding a four-foot marijuana bush, roots and all, holding it above her shoulder like a spear. Goddamn, I thought, looking around already for the gun-toting farmer pursuing his plant. Know what this is? she asked. A death wish, I said. It looked like a quality breed with lush foliage and dense buds, advanced horticultural product. Let's smoke it, she said. Put it back, I said. Look, said Jack, and he was holding a turtle, locked tight in its shell. Wow, I said, duly impressed. I had not heard him splashing or diving. He wasn't even wet. Can I keep him? Yeah, I said. I wished I'd caught something.

move on...