"Hey, mom?"

"Peter!" She exudes, and it's then that you're able to tell she's in her cups. "It's about fucking time you called me. I've been wor- been worried sick about you. You never call, yo- I mean, even a postcard would be NICE." There's a pause that you are about to fill with words, when "I have no idea where you are! I tried your old number and it got disconnected. Can you believe that?"

"Yeah," you say, sounding lame even to yourself. "I lost that phone."

"Lost it!?! Didn't I- I mean, didn't I teach you to take care of your things? You're always... always losing your phones. Those things aren't cheap!"

"Yeah, mom. They're not cheap."

"Not at all cheap..."

"Mom, have you been drinking?"

"What makes you- yes. Yes, I have. I am a grown ass woman of legal age and I have been drinking. Do you have a problem with that?"

"Ma, it's just-"

"Oh, I bet you have a problem with that. Mr. Marijuana has a problem with his mother having a c- a couple drinks, is that it?"

"Mom, please, I don't want to-"

"Are you going to lecture me? Is that it? Well, fuck you! Yeah, just... just fuck you. You're never around, what do you care?"

The rest of the conversation is largely more of the same until, finally, mercifully, the phone call reaches