hack

So, as I wait for my friend, O.K. his name is Hardeo, there are lots of Hardeos in the world, who's to say. LM was pouring tea and talking about a scar in the desert that she says is supposed to be art but, in her estimation, is not. The old man is gone again and I'm looking at the time and thinking Hardy and Jus could be back any minute. But they are not. LM asks if I want to get high, I politely decline, and she fires up a doobie that smells pretty premium. Not that I would necessarily know. She tells me that the old guy wants to go to the sink hole. I have seen it, it is a pretty impressive hole in the desert, an hour or so up the road to Grand Wash, as I recall. LM said that for all she knew, Grandpa could be headed there now.
She said, "Look in the back of the van, there should be a wood frame backpack there", and there was. She said that he would not leave without it. So, as she drank tea and smoked the fattie, I mostly looked around for local law enforcement, mostly. She said that she was a tatoo artist. And a farmer, I supposed. She did sport inked sleeves from her T-shirt that extended to her fingers, and an ornate half-collar at the back of her neck...