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I smoked my first blunt on a soccer field with my
play cousins. A video of Tupac taught me how to
twist the leaf I’d just moistened and filled with pot
into a pearl. In that magic hour light, we spark &
breathe the pungent white noise, send it leftward
watching each other become what we assume
men are. We chief ’til we smell like the big homies—
our eyelids plump slits hiding fire, dustbowls for mouths.