"They're like too fossilized to know what's with it."

Don broke out one of the roaches, lighted it and inhaled deeply, holding it in his lungs as long as he could, passing the cigarette to her and watching as she duplicated his actions. To be safe, he took a regular cigarette from his pack, lit it, hoping that the odor of the burning tobacco would cover the characteristic, burning-alfalfa smell of the marijuana. They traded, puffed, inhaled, held breath, exhaling slowly, allowing the narcotic smoke to work in them, its effect beginning slowly and building, building, building, until time stood still and the beauty of the night was magnified, every sound was heard… and they were all-seeing… all being. There was only the beauty of now! This is where it was! Everything was there in the smoke. The world was love… and love was everything, because they were young and healthy human animals… knowing all things… and capable of doing all things. They were the young invincibles! It was their right, indeed, their command to love. "Love the world!" it said. "Love each other! Love me…" it said, "and I'll love you back!"

The roach burned down. He snuffed it out and re-wrapped the remaining paper, ash, leaves and twigs, carefully, allowing none to escape him. It was necessary to be this careful; investigating narcs could find even one carelessly dropped particle. He put it safely in his pocket and buttoned it; then, languidly, seeing Marcy, clearly, in all her glorious beauty, he reached to the zipper on her dress, running it down her back and the whisper of the tiny pieces of metal was loud in his ears, as though a freight train had thundered through the quietly serene pergola.

She moved, helping him, standing to remove the dress over her head, revealing the budding womanliness of her, instantly, as she wore nothing under the dress. She was completely, gloriously naked… and he saw her as Athena, the Goddess of love. Indeed, she was love, incarnate.