Yesterday afternoon I went out for a bike ride. I was in a quiet neighborhood when I came to a four-way stop. There was a car already to my right at the intersection, so I waited for him to move. For a few seconds I waited, then I noticed he had something to his lips that he was concentrating on. At first I thought it was a bottle, then I realized it was a bong. Just then he coughed out a cloud of smoke and raised an arm and waved me through ahead of him. So I biked past while the man took another bong hit.
This morning Mrs The Fyd and I went for massages. That is a far more respectable, and mostly legal, manner of indulging oneself. The only detracting factor: listening to the same Enya CD for an hour.
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