11-25-2023, 11:20 PM
When In Doubt; a Short Film
(for Tiger)
A sparse tenement room.
On a rickety kitchen table, a baggie
filled with 16 month old cannabis.
John from Cincinnati sees it for the first time.
There’s no rolling papers.
He reaches for a bible printed on India paper,
tears out a page from the psalms,
hunts for a pair of scissors.
He cuts a careful square out of a Psalm,
gives it a few longitudinal creases,
begins to roll the paper between thumb and index finger
to wear it down, crush the straightness out of it
till it forms a curved surface.
He pulls out a few fragrant buds
(no grinder either) and begins to crush and cut
with extra long thumbnails, the buds into
tiny and tinier fragments of sticky green bits.
He spreads the fragments along the gutter
of the makeshift rolling paper, presses it down
into the groove, and begins a quick, profession roll
of paper and plant matter into a torpedo shape.
Crinkling each end a bit, like a sword swallower
it goes into his mouth to come out again slicked
with saliva, sealed and ready to dry.
Now, the wait. Junkies are always waiting.
Camera moves in for a close-up
of the words readable along the top of the reefer:
“Let my prayer be set forth before thee…”
(for Tiger)
A sparse tenement room.
On a rickety kitchen table, a baggie
filled with 16 month old cannabis.
John from Cincinnati sees it for the first time.
There’s no rolling papers.
He reaches for a bible printed on India paper,
tears out a page from the psalms,
hunts for a pair of scissors.
He cuts a careful square out of a Psalm,
gives it a few longitudinal creases,
begins to roll the paper between thumb and index finger
to wear it down, crush the straightness out of it
till it forms a curved surface.
He pulls out a few fragrant buds
(no grinder either) and begins to crush and cut
with extra long thumbnails, the buds into
tiny and tinier fragments of sticky green bits.
He spreads the fragments along the gutter
of the makeshift rolling paper, presses it down
into the groove, and begins a quick, profession roll
of paper and plant matter into a torpedo shape.
Crinkling each end a bit, like a sword swallower
it goes into his mouth to come out again slicked
with saliva, sealed and ready to dry.
Now, the wait. Junkies are always waiting.
Camera moves in for a close-up
of the words readable along the top of the reefer:
“Let my prayer be set forth before thee…”