I told him I loved dancing in the summer rain during thunderstorms.

He said, “I can’t believe you don’t smoke weed, that’s something a pothead would do.”

And I remember thinking (I’ve always thought since then), how strange it was, how sad, that for you, life could not be enjoyed or appreciated with a lucid mind — that something so terrible and beautiful as nature could not bring your heart to sober tears of awe.