The desert was as hot as usual, nothing moving for miles around. The dark stretch of road connecting one end of the Nevada desert to the other baked silently in the sun. A few stones suddenly jumped a little, then some more. The ground shook violently as a yellow streak shot past, leaving a few skid marks on the road. The desert returned to its usual state, nothing moving, seemingly untouched by this sudden outburst of activity.
A few miles down the road Flower Blossom was having the time of his life, rocking out to some kick-ass tunes. His Dodge Charger ’09 was kicking up dust all across the flat desert. Feather Wing was riding shotgun, his long dark hair flailing all around. They were as free as the wind; their only company the infinite stars and one another. They had nothing but life in their plans for the next few months, free from any town or city. The V8 engine purred and the tires screeched as Flower pulled the wheel to the left taking the car into a slight drift. There were no cops around for miles and he was able to do whatever he wanted.
He heard a grunt behind him, one he was way to familiar with. They smoked a whole joint. That meant rolling another one and doing that while driving isn’t exactly the most practical thing on the planet. Smoking weed while driving was his favourite past time but putting joints together while being tossed around wasn’t. Since both of them were blazed out of their minds this fact didn’t bother them at all. Seemingly spotting the slightly distressed look on Flower’s face, Feather waved his hoof and got ready to roll another one. They sang about breaking on trough to the other side while Feather was breaking open a brand new bag of primo A-grade Indica Dark Star.
Soon, Flower heard the greatest sound in the universe just a few inches to his left. The silent clack of a Zippo lighter as Feather lit his joint, took a good long drag and sighed calmly. This was it, this was the life. The whole of fucking society with their narrow mindedness and their orthodoxy could go to hell. They had the ultimate of freedoms, the freedom to be whoever they wanted to be. The road before their eyes curved up and down into seemingly endless and impossible loops. Once second the hot boxed car flew and the other it sailed across water. The road before them was endless, warping into a thousand universes and a million dimensions.
The car slowed down for a second as Feather and Flower switched seats, the joint changing hooves during the transaction. Somehow they managed to pull it off without breaking anything.
The new joint suddenly took effect and it seemed like Jerry Garcia was in the back seat, playing into Flower’s ear. The seat behind them was filled with bags of weed, all sorts of strains, picked up in California a while ago. They still had like twenty left or so to sell and keep the rest. Flower turned around and suddenly realized he was growing hungry. He turned to Feather who was bouncing up and down like a madman to “Bad Moon Rising”.
There was nothing in the glove compartment except a few condoms, a few cans of lighter gas and a single vinyl disc. Kind of pointless since they had no record player on them or anywhere nearby and no one to play it to. They had plenty of 8-tracks though and they went through the majority of them. Flower was growing increasingly high but feather did nothing except sing a few unconnected lyrics every now and then. Flower turned to him and spoke, shaking him gently with his hoof.
“Hey man” he said somewhat seriously, his eyes flying all over the cabin
Feather didn’t move, his eyes still fixed on the road. He was hypnotized.
“Dude, I’m fuckin’ starving” Flower said, louder “We stoppin’ soon or what?”
“Yeah, in a bit” was the only response he got and a slightly annoyed smirk barely different from the usual weed grin. The joint was gone once again and the tape stopped playing, Grace Slick’s vocal being replaced by static.
A sign whizzed past them reading “Gas, 25 miles”. There was nothing else to indicate where they were. After a few more attempts to communicate, all ending in failure, Flower Blossom gave up and retired into his own lucidness only hoping that his buddy over there would stop at the right place. After what seemed like an eternity, the car slowed a little. Flower snapped out of his high and looked forward. Through the smoke in the car he could see the outlines of what appeared to be a gas and gulp.
The car screeched to a halt, skidding a bit ahead on the loose sand before finally stopping.
Feather Wing was the first one to leave the car, looking around the saddlebags in the trunk for some money. There were plumes of smoke rising from the inside, making everything in the radius of 5 miles smell like weed. If the sheriff pulled up, they were screwed.
Finally, after twenty minutes of digging through the back of the car, Feather returned with a small bag of bits that he held up using his teeth. Flower spotted that he was trying to say something so he picked up the bag with his magic, hovering it a few inches in front of his face. He didn’t hear what Feather said, his eyes transfixed on the movements of the small leather bag hovering in front of him. The trip to the door suddenly grew slow. Time wasn’t relevant anymore; it was dictated by the small, minute movements of the leather pouch, dancing rhythmically to the swaying of money. Money really was a crime, and you better share it, fear it but don’t take a slice of my pie.
A few seconds later Flower was hit in the face by something cold, dropping the bag and ending
his flight. He got up only to see Feather snicker like a madman. Apparently Flower walked straight into the door, leaving a nasty print of saliva on the glass.
A voice called them in sternly. The clerk behind the counter didn’t seem amused at all. He was a small grey colt with messy red hair. A few college books were strewn across the table in front of him and he seemed displeased. Flower tried going to college but he could never bear anyone telling him how to think so he got into selling weed. After while he had enough money to buy a car and hit the road. Life as a travelling weed merchant, constantly running from the law, was great. The feeling of freedom was unparalleled.
Every day you met new ponies and new places, found new ways to have fun and be wild with no one around to tell you what to think. It was the life. Over the years Flower had gathered friends in every single city on the West Coast. They were a special breed of ponies, always up for an adventure, not caring where the road takes them as long as getting there is fun. The future was good music, great company and better weed. There was nothing to worry about, only the amount of weed you have, the amount of weed you need to pick up and how much gas you had in the tank. The rest of the time you were free to think what you wanted, be as unorthodox as possible and think about the big stuff. Flower tended to avoid being high 24/7 because it simply loses its fun. Weed is there to make you feel good when you feel bad; to make you see other dimensions when you felt flat and to travel boldly where no other sober pony ever did.
Flower did LSD once a moth as well, mandatory. The things you saw on LSD were great but simply too much to handle more than once in a while. He saw other ponies go mad after too much of the stuff and he knew better. As far as other drugs go, he only tried peyote and mescaline, didn’t like any of it. Both made you sick and the trip was way weaker then LSD. Simply wasn’t worth it, there wasn’t enough to look forward to. Alcohol wasn’t his thing. He got drunk once and woke up in a pool facing 2 years in prison. Never again, he told himself. He still had the bite marks from that crazy vampire chick.
A hoof hit Flower over the head. He was in space again, staring a rack of newspapers into submission. The clerk seemed more annoyed then before. He was getting impatient. Flower never understood impatient people. Why bother being impatient? Life was there to enjoy.
Anyway, Feather had already told the pony what he wanted and it was Flower’s turn. He squinted really hard and muttered something before forming it into a full sentence.
“...uhhh, gimme...” He pointed towards a pack of skittles behind the clerk “That stuff, my good man!”
The clerk put it down onto the tray tapping his hoof impatiently. He didn’t have time.
“That’s 25 bits...sir” he replied “Could you please hurry up?”
“Umm, why the rush dude?” said Flower looking him deeply in the eyes “We’re in the middle of a fucking desert!”
“Sir, you’re obviously too intoxicated to know what I’m talking about” The clerk looked at Flower with a stare that could kill “Marijuana is bad for you!”
Flower was annoyed by this statement, particularly by the fact that the clerk was talking to him like you would talk to a foal. During all of his travels he met a lot of ponies who tended to say that weed is “Bad for you” but none of them could agree on one bad side of it. He met all sorts who said that, from preachers to soccer moms. He knew that none of them were right. In the long run, weed is safer then cola for fuck’s sake. He simply wanted to see what the clerk had to say on the matter. He replied with a single word.
“Why?”
“Well, sir, Marijuana stimulates the...”
“Stop right fucking there” said Flower “Have you ever smoked weed? Like ever?”
“Well, no” Replied the now confused teller “I never di-“
Before he could get around doing anything, a moderately large bag of weed plopped down onto the counter together with a brand new pipe. Flower Blossom winked at the clerk.
“Whadda ya say? Gimme a hundred bucks and all of this is yours.” He said “There is enough grass in here to keep you high for a week, providing you smoke twice every day”
The clerk could not believe the amount of articulation with which the colt sold him the bag of weed. He could also not believe the ease with which he accepted. The transaction was completed without words and in exchange, the two stoners managed to walk out of the store with the largest amount of snacks ever recorded in all of pony history...for free.
Within twenty minutes Feather Wing and Flower Blossom were back on the road, smoking once again, laughing heartily at a lizard they saw by the road two and a half hours ago. We can only presume what the clerk at the gas and gulp was thinking.
Probably how fascinating the item scanner looks when you shine it into your face.