Me, John, and Jesus Smoking Pot

By nine o'clock this brisk Fall morning, a most pertinant thought scampered across my mind like a mouse running for cover. After contemplating my view on the music industry having too much freedom with illegal actions and substances and illegal substances' muse upon the sweet melodic clashing I love; Jesus entered the room to smoke pot with us. At least, John Mayer and I thought that what Jesus wanted: pot.
Unfortunately, my mind was too distracted to imagine the room's appeal or design. It wasn't cluttered with another decorate a distressed yuppie room. Instead, it was focussed on something far more intellectual: pot and Jesus. Therefore, the room looked like a holding cell at the local River Forest Police Station. I am sure that nobody other than a few out of line leaf arsonists and a drunk prep have ever made use of those cells, but that's why the cops were beyond willing to let us in. Oh, and they totally did not mind the whole pot thing.
Back to Jesus, John and I were just laughing. When Jesus walked in, we almost peed our pants. Like we couldn't believe that he was actually here. But thankfully, we were just glad to have him with us. John offered him some of the sweet stuff, but Jesus just arched his left eyebrow and sat down across from us. He asked how we were. I giggled and John started talking about some music industry shit. It was random, and I just kept wondering when was the last time these two guys shaved. I swear that Jesus rolled his eyes.
Suddenly, our holding cell turned into my pint size dining room that is only used to throw mail and recyclable papers in at the end of the day. Without Bessie around, nobody uses that room to eat, but Jesus seemed right at home as he tossed us a bag of Doritos and dished us some lasagna. John started to be a smart ass about his former belief that Jesus was a Vegan. Jesus just slopped him some lasagna and gave him a bold stare as he sarcastically mentioned that John's vision and mind must be defective since there's a huge plank bulging out of his eyes. I giggled. And then, Jesus stared right at me! Yep, I was screw-ooo-ed!
He mentioned a name. It was not mine. It sounded like one that belongs to a lanky little girl that smiles without front teeth as she stretched each of her five fingertips to a tiled cieling sky in a paste and peanut butter smelling room while she holds the answer to 12 times 12. Blankly my face went from amused to a deeply hidden flash of the most personal introspection. I dumped my giggles as I began to stare at Jesus' most seriously calm face. He said her name again, Naomi Wethers. He asked if I knew her since I looked as if I was mulling over this very name. Sheepishly I knodded 'no'. He told me that her dad dealt John's agent the pot. In an hour, she will be with Jesus. I knew that this didn't mean she was coming over for lasagna. Suddenly, I was not hungry and John shut-up his smart-ass mouth.
Now, I know why Jesus didn't smoke pot. It wasn't my reasoning. He did not care what other's thought or of it's legality. But, he hung around to kick back with us while we watched the Office and John started to scribble on some of my old reciepts. Apparently, he had 'an idea'. But, Jesus did't have to say much all night. He just stuck around and left just short of an hour because he had someone special coming home.
John and I should have felt imprisoned, but instead we walked, talked, and realized that we were not the same.