Louise and I had moved into a small frame cottage (with an upstairs attic) on the corner of Travis and Newman Streets in Dallas.
It was early Saturday morning and Louise and I were still sleeping together in bed when I heard the phone ring. I answered it and was surprised to hear Walls on the other end. We spoke and he asked me when was the last time I had smoked marijuana. I knew that although I hadn't been smoking for quite a while, I had recently purchased a small quantity of pot and had smoked it the previous day. I told him I hadn't smoked in a long time except for the day before.
After we hung up, I continued thinking about smoking marijuana. I still had the small baggie of marijuana which I had recently purchased. Since it was Saturday morning, I began thinking now would be a good time to smoke some.
Louise didn't know I had bought any marijuana and I didn't want her to know I had begun smoking again. I thought I could possibly roll up a joint and smoke it before she awoke, but I didn't have any cigarette papers. I thought perhaps I could go to a store and buy some; but I really didn't like that idea, because someone might see me and report me to the police. I considered whether my buying cigarette papers would be sufficient probable cause for my arrest. I didn't think it would, but I thought it could still cause me some problems.
Where would I smoke the marijuana? I might just walk down the street and smoke it as I walked. Or I might go to the railroad tracks in back of our house and smoke. I concluded that my best option would be to go up into the attic house to smoke. The attic (which was quite clean) would be the safest place.
As I thought about it, I began looking about the house, which was quite clean throughout, although still a bit disorderly from our recent move-in. The house was newly carpeted and painted and quite comfortable.
I walked out onto the porch and looked at the surrounding neighborhood. The porch stretched around the corner of the house so the porch was on two sides of the house. I thought the front of the house would be a nice place to install a swing to sit in.
As I stood contemplating the surrounding houses, Louise walked out and stood beside me. She pointed to a large house on the corner of the street across from us, and deprecatingly spoke about a fellow who lived there. Having seen the fellow myself, I knew he was a slovenly person.
The other house seemed to mirror the fellow's personality. The yard was overgrown and the paint was peeling. The window's crooked curtains looked like dirty sheets. I told Louise I thought about 10 people lived in the large house which looked as if it had been built as an apartment and not a house.
In one window of the house I could see what looked like an African carving, like some kind of small totem pole. I thought living in that house wouldn't be so bad. I would be more independent over there. Louise asked me if I would like to move out of our house and live over there alone. I had the feeling that her question was somehow tied to my smoking marijuana and that the other house was the kind of place where a person who smoked marijuana would feel at home. I turned back and looked at our little, comfortable, clean home, reflected for a moment and told her I sincerely thought I would rather stay there with her.
I looked to the other side of the street and saw a row of small green houses which all looked alike. The houses weren't very pretty. A small girl (3-4 years old) came out of one. She was neatly dressed in a dress. I looked at her and wondered if I would meet her.
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