He gently touched the shape of the joint through the fabric of his shirt pocket. He'd placed it there because it was safest. Safest for the joint. Probably less safe in terms concealment from law enforcement. He was already so high. This joint would be enough to get him very high at least twice. Everybody knew you couldn't drive drunk. For some reason it was agreed upon by smokers that you could drive high though. It was safe to.

weed

didn't blunt your perception in the same way

alcohol

did.

Dave recited this to himself over and over again as he tried to focus on not crashing. Nothing was slipping his senses. He noticed everything he normally would just fine. There was no risk of blinking and then realizing the next moment that he had ran off the road. Instead it was a perpetual paranoia of a crash impending. Every moment felt like it could lead to disaster even without any evidence of it.

Eventually he had to stop. He got into the left lane. It didn't matter that the Three Kings Hotel was just four minutes away. He tried convincing himself that he ought to just turn the right signal on, leave the left turn lane and make that final four minute drive. Instead he sat in the middle watching the cars swoosh by at slower than usual speed.

The left turn got him into the parking lot of a local 

diner

. He could use some food. And maybe kill an hour. So Dave went inside.