April 20, 2016. My partner for the day mentions in passing why this particular day is so significant. We are making small talk, the day just beginning. Of course I have heard of 420, plucked willy-nilly from the raging torrent of popular culture that roars past each and every day. I’ve also heard of Kardashian, cat videos, East Coast vs. West Coast, colonic irrigation, the Marvel Comics movie franchise, and Facebook. Somehow I’d managed to keep life on keel without benefit of these or other trending memes. Hal, I’ll call him, is fishing for my position on pot. Hal hints that he might, in fact, observe 420 when the work day is done. A few hours later we pull up to a small bungalow, front porch humming with activity. Young women herd small children toward a sedan parked in the driveway. We’ve interrupted a party in progress in the small living room. Five or six young men ring a coffee table. A pall of smoke blankets the gathering. There’s a brief moment of tense confusion, but once we establish the purpose for our visit everyone relaxes. We stack ten cases of water in the dining room leaving us no choice but to repeatedly thread a path through the middle of the party. On my final trip through I’m invited to join them. For a brief moment, I try to imagine the dramatic shift in vibe should I accept, shoehorn myself onto the ecru colored microfiber sectional. Bon appetite, gentlemen!