A deft ripple from my thumb flicked ash to the wooden slates under my feet. With a joint held between two numb fingers I ruminated over the many things in life traveled down the haunted hallways of my mind all the while musing over the fact that we donβt know what we donβt know. Each thought was accompanied with the exhalation of smoke and a dropped bit of spent **** every now and then. With the pain smothered beneath a blanket of smoke the Oregonβs early morning chill the remembrance of past things failed to sting as severely. In the end a pile of gray soot lay at my feet. Maybe I should get an ashtray and use it to store my thoughts.