Corey Pentoney
Curtains
I
stared at the hollowed-out
speaker. It was one of those fivefoot-tall floor speakers with fake
wood sides. The kind you see
sitting by the side of the road or
at a Salvation Army. Not the kind
anyone actually used. It was
lined with tinfoil and a UV lamp
hung from the top. Arty had cut a
hole for a vent hose in the back,
which ran out the window. A fan
at the end of the hose would
keep the air moving and the smell
from gathering too heavily in his
tiny, cluttered apartment. At the
bottom of the speaker was a
bucket of water with fertilizer in
it, and a little plant, about five
inches tall, stood straight out of
substrate floating just on top of
the water.
“You're an idiot,” I said. Arty
just grinned. He was proud of the
work he'd put into the thing.
“Mike gave me the cut for
free,” he replied, as if it would
explain everything away. Mike
was a co-worker of his at the
Lobster Pit. “Said he just wanted
a few ounces when it was ready.”
“You're an idiot,” I repeated.
“You don't think your neighbors
will notice the smell?”
“That's what the fan is for. No
one's going to pay attention to
the smell of a little pot wafting
out of the window.” He finished
off his C