pipe eulogy: bowlympia

My dear bowlympia --

you spoke to me before you smoked for me. this little head shop in olympia, place of your conception. I looked for twenty minutes, and nothing. so I listened - I stopped looking - and I heard you. you were perfectly made, shaped, and priced. cobalt glass with green and gold stripes. with specks of real gold. but nothing gold can stay.

my brother made this, said the head shop owner when he picked you up. youre kidding! I said. you were such a labor of love, and i loved you. you didn't even need a screen.

I'm sorry I left you at that party last night. I didn't mean to. it had nothing to do with that other glass I was carrying with me. it was just a one hit thing, it doesn't mean anything to me. I don't even know its name.

bowlympia, I'm truly sorry. when I took you out today, picked you up from that coffee table, and said to you, and to ryan, 'oh bowlympia I'll be so said if and when I lose you. dont you hate that? how everythings ephemeral?' these are the daily conversations I have that jynx me. I'm so sorry, I didn't even know it was a curse.

you met your demise on the fucking stairs of the campus center, you just leaped out of my bag, like a dog running into the street, not knowing how those linoleum stairs can hit you like a semi. You, perfect in every way and a precious treasure I brought back from the west coast, getting killed by my messy purse and the weed-unfriendly campus that you graced with your presence.

this is a wake up call. I need to straighten up and leave this place. thank you for having your final act be one that opened my eyes. thank you for everything. especially the resin.

I'ma see you in weed heaven.