BUCKTOWN—While Chicago is quarantined under Mayor Lightfoot’s shelter-in-place order, it might seem like the Age of the Stoners has finally arrived. But according to one local toker, he’d much rather be experiencing a “buddy high” than a body high this 4/20.
“Celebrating a solo 4/20 just isn’t the same-o,” said Charmaine LeVahn, 25, as he rolled a fat spliff full of primo indica he’d bought from his dealer, a man who only goes by the name Prince Choom. “I had enough ‘Built To Chill’ to smoke out all my homies—Tom, Daisy, Carole...but I guess I’m flying solo for the foreseeable future.”
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“They say it’s called ‘indica’ because it puts you in da couch,” he added. “But right now it’s putting me ‘in da feelings’.”
Even worse, reports suggest that not even previously enjoyable high time activities have managed to ward off LeVahn’s serious case of bad vibes. “This used to be my favorite King Crimson release,” LeVahn said, staring ruefully at a faded copy of In The Court of the Crimson King on vinyl, “but now it just reminds me of all the good times I had hanging out at Zeppo’s old punk house out in Avondale.”
“This is seriously weak,” LeVahn said as he gingerly put the record back in its sleeve. “I’m not emotionally prepared to listen to ‘Moonchild’ right now.”
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Hitting some more primo ganj from a glass one-hitter in the shape of a popular cartoon scientist who had turned himself into a pickle, LeVahn mused that hitting big clouds just wasn’t the same without anyone to pass the dutchie to.
“Not even my black velvet poster of a wizard riding a Pegasus can cheer me up,” he said as he gestured to the painting in question, neglecting to add the pretty sick crystal formations and hot barbarian babe in the background. “Normally Baron Münchausen and me would bust out my old optical illusions book and just kind of zone and look to the wizard for guidance periodically, but he won’t speak to me. Only the Baron had the magic touch.”
“Plus Shrimp Man and the Stinker aren’t even around to keep me from accidentally drinking out of my ash cup,” LeVahn said, presumably referencing two more friends from his smoking group that could not be corroborated as LeVahn shuffled into his kitchenette to eat some Cheez-Its.
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“I guess I’m going to sit out in my backyard and think about my homies,” LeVahn said. “See you guys later.” As of press time LeVahn was apparently still splayed out in the small grassy area behind his building, wearing a PHISH sweatshirt and periodically yelling, “Oh god! Companionship!!!”
