High

A few nights ago, I was walking to WINCO along the bicycle path that winds through the sport practice fields at the edge of campus. There was a small group huddled on the lawn, puffing away on what appeared to be cigars but smelled like pot. When I returned along the same path a half hour later, all six or seven of them were hopping up and down, each on one leg, laughing hysterically. It was quite an amusing sight, and it made me smile.

I wasn't smiling anymore when they all suddenly stopped hopping, piled into a couple of cars parked in the gravel parking lot adjacent to the path, and drove away.