They say the past is etched in stone, but it isn't. It's... smoke, trapped in a closed room swirling, changing... buffeted by the passing of years and wishful thinking. But even though our perception of it changes, one thing remains constant. The past can never be completely erased. It lingers, like the scent of burning wood.
You and I should not drink. –Yeah, I'm thinking about giving it up and moving on to the hard stuff. –Narcotics! Deal me in. –You don't seem like the type. –Yeah, I smoked a doobie once. Made me drool. –A doobie. –Weed. Pot. The Mary Jane. Whatever the kids are calling it these days. –I'm not sure that's, uh, considered hard anymore. At least not according to Denver anyway. –The times they are a-changin'.