Late Night Munchies

At Insomnia Cookies

Stuffed into an old Dodge Dart, with the roof falling in, we drove down Broad Street, passed a joint from the front to the backseat, while listening to the Moody Blues ‘Nights in White Satin’

We drove until Jay had an idea, which didn’t happen often — a trip to the 24-hour cookie store — for insomniac stoners who had a serious case of the munchies

Nothing would stop us, not the green bowl of THC, not even a traffic light, a stop sign, a no-loading zone or a dead end —

We kept driving and laughing like hebephrenics to an Adam Sandler song, made lefts when we should have turned right — gone straight instead of taking the next exit

Dude, hurry up — I get high just sniffing those giant cookies — the ones with the raisins and the huge chocolate chips and the caramel topping

We know, Harry, I said. We’re trying to find the damn place, but it’s hard reading the street signs when the dope’s buzzing in our heads

Five stoners jonesing for treats, like Popeye needing spinach — sucking smoke from a glass bong, acting like Cheech and Chong — sharing monster blunts, looking in the side-view for Philly cops

And finally, we found the place, each of us ordered two pizza-sized cookies, got our cups of coffee, and zoned out in a parking lot

Our eyes were too bloodshot to keep open — baked and burnt out in Steve’s two-door compact, with cookie crumbs, roach clips, and parking tickets stuck to our asses.

© 2022 Mark Tulin

Two more funny ones by Mark: