Herbal Clouds

“If you smoke after sex, you’re doing it too fast”, she tells him. She leans up under the sweat covered sheets, propped on one arm. Her eyes bore into me, coaxing me to speak. I’m not really a fan of pillow talk. “Maybe, you should try a grandpa pill, and you won’t be the only one satisfied next time”, she continues.

I’m not sure if she’s realized it, or if she ever will, but the smoking is so I can tune her out and maybe attempt to satisfy her. Women like her are never easily satisfied. There’s always too many things wrong by her standards, and her lavish life is drowned by her inability to be appreciative. She should be happy I even took her home with me. Everyone else warned me to leave Cruella de Vain alone. Her nickname at work is the Devil Wears Red Bottoms.

Her constant glaring annoys me so I walk around the room. As I spark my blunt, inhaling my herbal clouds, I try to imagine another woman. A woman who enjoys the best three minutes that I can give them, and then personally let themselves out while I watch the game. Ah, a perfect woman that would be.