Yesterday's Gone: Season One

the idiot box had to offer: LOST and 24 , plus cool cable shows like Dexter, The Walking Dead, and Breaking Bad , but most TV was crap and he knew it, made by producers who pulled the levers at the Crap Factory. Reality shows were cheaper than decent drama, and money meant more than legacy, so crap kept piling on top of crap until 1,000 channels were broadcasting little but stink.
    Jim would rather read, or watch a good movie. He loved stories, adventure, the never knowing what would happen next. TV was too predictable. Sure, movies were mostly formula too, and so were books for that matter, but the thing good books and movies had that bad TV didn’t were the quality of the questions they asked.  
    Even the cheesiest sci-fi books, done well, left you with questions of who we are and where we came from, or even better, where we’re going and how we might get there.  
    But Jim wasn’t craving questions now; he wanted pure, unadulterated junk TV like sugary cereal on a Saturday morning spent watching cartoons — back when there were decent cartoons on TV, that was.
    He made a face at the blank screen in his hotel room where he’d gone to try and take a nap even though it wasn’t even 1 p.m. “Oh, TV, why has thou abandoned me in my hour of need?”  
    Nobody was around to appreciate his humor, so he laughed at his own joke, then headed to the bar, to pour himself a drink. Then he thought better of alcohol, and headed toward the stairwell instead. Jim didn’t care for drinking, not much anyway. Weed was much better. Alcohol usually made him sad, or sleepy. Herb expanded his mind, got him to ponder the size of the universe and his place in it. And other times, it made him laugh his ass off. But never did he have a bad weed experience or wake up wishing he’d not smoked so much.
    Some comedian once said if weed were a legal drug marketed on TV, it would be called “Fuck it All” or something, which seemed appropriate — it helped him to ignore the shit that everyone else stressed out about, and think about bigger picture sorts of stuff. Important stuff.
    Jim decided to head to the second-story window, which had the best view of the parking lot. Might as well watch the sea of bleakers while enjoying a bowl or two . As he climbed the stairs, he pulled the baggie from his pocket and sighed.
    Shit, not much left.  
    Jim had enjoyed a steady diet of daily doses since he first turned 15 and Walter Hawking gave him a dime bag to celebrate. He had never even considered a future without weed. He would need to find more. And after that, he’d need to learn how to grow the shit.
    Farmer Jim in da’ house.
    Jim opened the door to the second floor and was surprised to find the window view occupied by Buzz Kill John Boy, himself. Fuck me.  
    Jim had hoped to run into Will again, with whom he had shared some weed earlier and had a great conversation. The likelihood of John providing an interesting conversation was about the same as Jim running into a frightened supermodel in need of some companionship tomorrow.
    John turned back to Jim and then back to the scene outside, without saying a word. Though it was lunch time, the world outside was darker than midnight. Heavy, swirling black clouds churned low in the sky.  
    “That is fucking awesome,” Jim said.
    “It is , isn’t it?” John said, with the hint of a smile on his lips. “So why aren’t you eating lunch with the others?”
    “Wanted to smoke myself into oblivion and take a nap if we’re not leaving this place.”
    “Is that how that works?” John asked.  
    Jim laughed. “No, not really. But this latest stuff does seem to make me sleepy. It’s called Jade, from my buddy Walter. He gets it from California because his older brother lives out there. He’s trying to be an actor, or was trying anyway. He uses his medicinal marijuana card to make ends meet, including weekly shipments back home to Walter. Big business, at least for a high schooler. They split the money, 50/50. Walter wanted to buy a car, but figured even if his parents were stupid, they weren’t too stupid to believe he could afford a new X-Terra just from mowing lawns, so he’s been stashing cash for two years. For all the good it did him.”  
    John continued to stare, silent.  
    Jim sprinkled a few dried leaves into the basin of his pipe. “Even though he always gave me a deal and a half, I was still one of Wally’s best customers. Of course, looks like I’m gonna need a new