The Monthly Chronic-les of Life
Chapter 3: The Sunshine Dream and Monday Night Misery
October 7th: Punta Gorda to Akron, Ohio
Paul sat in the small Punta Gorda Airport, the last bits of Florida’s warmth still clinging to his skin. The $50 one-way ticket to Akron was crumpled in his back pocket, but in his mind, he was still on the Gulf Coast. He could taste Christy’s lips, feel the ocean breeze in her hair, and the sun’s heat radiating off her skin.
He sighed, leaning back into the uncomfortable airport chair. Needing something to take the edge off his thoughts, Paul pulled a cold Cantrips D9 Root Beer from his bag. Cracking it open, the familiar fizz and nostalgic root beer flavor washed over him. He took a slow sip, feeling the gentle effects of the Delta-9 THC settle in, like a calm wave pulling him into a daydream.
In his dream, Christy stood in the shallow, clear waters of the Gulf, glowing under the golden light of the setting sun. The waves lapped at her thighs, the water catching the fading sunlight and casting a warm glow around her. Her skin gleamed, kissed by the sun, and her dark hair clung to her shoulders, dripping with saltwater like she belonged to the sea.
Paul watched from the shore, entranced by her beauty, as she dipped beneath the water, her silhouette blending with the twilight sky. When she rose again, water cascaded down her curves, and her eyes—playful and warm—met his.
The sky was painted in oranges and pinks, the sun sinking lower on the horizon. Christy smiled, that teasing grin he adored, and waved him in.
“Come on, Paul,” she called out, her voice as smooth as honey. “You’re always watching from the shore… why don’t you jump in?”
Paul waded toward her, the cool water lapping at his skin, but all the warmth he needed was in her smile. He reached out, time slowing as the waves gently pulled them together. Everything was perfect. Everything was hers.
Suddenly, a jarring voice cut through the dream.
"Welcome to Akron," the flight attendant droned. "Current temperature: forty-six degrees. Forecast: rainy and miserable. Enjoy your stay."
Paul groaned as the harsh fluorescent lights of the plane cabin hit his eyes. His dream of Christy and Florida’s warmth vanished, replaced by the cold, gray skies of northeastern Ohio. Outside, thick clouds hung low, promising nothing but drizzle and gloom. He sighed, grabbing his bag. “Goodbye, sunshine,” he muttered, trudging off the plane.
The cold, damp air bit at him as he walked to his car, his breath visible in the October chill. Once back in his small, lonely apartment, Paul wasted no time lighting a THCA Flower Hybrid Chemdog from Tri-Healthy. The earthy aroma filled the room as smoke curled toward the ceiling, easing the ache of returning to Ohio’s cold grip.
It was Week 5, and Paul settled on the couch, remote in hand, ready for Monday Night Football. Tonight, it was the Saints vs. the Chiefs.
“Oh, great, the freaking Chiefs,” he muttered sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
Paul wasn’t shy about his dislike for Kansas City’s team. Something about their flashy quarterback, their overconfident offense—it all rubbed him the wrong way. He scowled at the screen as Patrick Mahomes jogged onto the field.
“Mahomeboy,” Paul grumbled, shaking his head. “Probably out here throwing no-look passes while checking his reflection in the jumbotron. Bet the guy has more mirrors than touchdowns.”
Sure enough, the game started, and the Chiefs pulled out their usual tricks—quick passes, fancy footwork. Paul sighed dramatically. “Look at him, tossing touchdowns like he’s at a carnival. What’s next, Mahomes? A behind-the-back, under-the-leg throw while balancing a cheeseburger on your head?”
He took another drag from the joint, watching Mahomes flash his annoyingly charming smile on the sidelines. “Oh, of course. Smile for the cameras, Pat. It’s like a toothpaste ad: ‘Hi, I’m Patrick Mahomes, and my smile’s so bright, you won’t even notice our defense crumbling.’”
And then, there she was. The camera panned to the stands, and Taylor Swift appeared, clapping and cheering. Next to her? Travis Kelce, proudly sporting his #87 jersey.
Paul groaned, rolling his eyes so hard he thought they might get stuck. “Oh great, the ‘Stiffies’ are out in full force tonight,” he muttered, his new nickname for Swift’s fans who’d invaded the world of football. “Just what we need—cat ladies pretending to know the difference between a field goal and a touchdown.”
As if on cue, the commentators couldn’t stop fawning over Swift’s appearance. “Is that Taylor Swift in the stands?” one announcer asked, as if it was breaking news.
Paul leaned forward, mocking the TV. “Yes, yes it is. Congratulations, football, you’ve turned into a rom-com. What’s next, Taylor singing in the locker room after a win? ‘You Belong with Me… in the End Zone.’”
He took another sip of his Cantrips D9 Root Beer, the root beer and THC combo keeping him mellow despite his sarcasm. The camera zoomed in again on Swift, bopping along to her song, "Shake It Off," which started playing in the stadium.
Paul groaned, but then caught himself tapping his foot along with the beat. “Oh no, what is happening to me?” he chuckled, feeling the root beer’s effects fully kick in. Before he knew it, he was swaying to the music, singing along to the chorus: “Shake it off, shake it off!”
He laughed, standing up to stretch. “Am I becoming one of them?” he joked, half-dancing around the living room in exaggerated Swiftie fashion.
As the night wore on, the mix of football, music, and the Chemdog had him sprawled out on the couch, grinning and not caring as much as he thought he would. Maybe the cold weather and long-distance relationship were tough, but between Christy, football, and a little Taylor Swift sing-along, life wasn’t all that bad.
Guiding Questions:
- How will Paul adjust to the cold realities of Ohio after his time in Florida, and what will it take to make him feel at home again?
- Will Paul’s light-hearted approach to life help him cope with the strains of long-distance love, football rivalry, and whatever else comes his way?
- How will Paul’s dance with the Swiftie culture impact his relationship with Christy—will they bond over it or laugh it off together?