Buzzfeed, Boys, Black Magic

midnight slushies, 7 PM

"Here's the thing," Rafi ripped off a piece of his Rice Krispie Treat sheet and handed it to me. We sat on probably the same patch of Wawa parking lot as we had two days ago. The only difference was the sun was still up, his hair looked more yellow than golden, and he was completely sober. And coherent. Mostly.

"You don't have to be a lawyer to give legal counsel," he said.

"That can't be right," I examined my Rice Krispie ball. It seemed safe. I nibbled on it.

"You can represent yourself in court," Rafi said.

"I mean, if you really wanted to," I said, "you could probably learn how to take out your own appendix. They got all kinds of information on the internet."

"You know what kind of pain you'd be in if you tried to do that? You'd pass out after the first incision."

"I'm not a pussy," I sipped my slushie. "If you think you're a lawyer, I'm a surgeon. Same difference."

Rafi lowered his eyebrows.

"There's a huge difference. You could disembowel yourself-"

"Only if I fuck it up," I watched him break into giggles. He held his stomach, his Rice Krispy sheet on his lap, his slushie jumping in his free hand. It was... cute. As soon as I had this thought, I tried to push it out of my mind. "Why was Cody intoxicated at 10 am, anyway?"

"Ky's stupid leftover lasagna," Rafi said as he composed himself. "Cody forgot it had weed in it, had some for breakfast, and walked to the Weis before it kicked in."

"Why would you have cold lasagna for breakfast?"

"He started licking the freezer doors in the ice cream aisle. He said he wanted to see whether his tongue would get stuck."

"Did it?" I asked.

"When I bailed him out, it was still in his head," Rafi sipped his slushie.

"Why did he make you bail him out?" I asked. "Aren't you younger than him?"

"My uncle Rick- his dad- they, like, hate each other," Rafi shrugged. "Plus, it's no biggie. Dumbass just owes me two-hundred and fifteen dollars now."

"Plus your legal counsel fees."

Rafi giggled again.

"You're funny," he said, "I like that."

"Seriously. I would charge him," I said. "Mail him a bill."

"Eh," Rafi pursed his lips, "it's only money. I'll be making a lot of it in a few weeks, I don't need to worry about two-hundred bucks here and there."

"You have a job lined up?"

"Kinda," he scratched his ear. "I interned at this huge MMJ Company last summer, and my old boss basically promised me this bio-medical engineering job post-graduation."

"MMJ?"

"Medical Marijuana," he smirked. "It sounds like a joke, but it's actually serious work. Gonna design calibrated vaporizers, consult with pharmacists, it's real."

"How is that legal? They only passed the medical marijuana law last December?" I vaguely remember reading a headline about that in the local newspaper in one of the stands outside the hospital.

"In this backwater state," Rafi said, and handed me another Rice Krispie treat piece. "Medical marijuana's been legal in California for years."

"Oh," I said into my Rice Krispie treat.

"I was just out there last Monday," he said, and suddenly his brown tan this early into the summer made sense. "It was the final interview. I called on Friday and they said they were putting together my offer."