Sunday, as I drove out of my apartment complex in search for food, I spotted a beautiful rainbow (one of the few consistent benefits of a Florida summer). I decided, because I didn’t have anything to do, that I would follow it to the end. At the end of this rainbow were the flashing lights of a police car (and the police car, and a police officer, and probably a weapon or three) and two totaled vehicles. There was literally a car wreck at the end of the rainbow. I pulled into a sandwich shop close to the accident and said to the pimply faced Puerto Rican behind the counter, “Whadda ya think of that rainbow?”

“I think it caused that accident.”

“How so?”

“I think those two people were checking it out and not paying attention and then bam, they nailed each other.”

“We better watch out,” I said. “The way this country’s been working, someone’ll find a way to sue the rainbow and then the government’ll find a way to make ‘em illegal.”

“Are you gonna order something or what?”

“Roast beef and swiss on wheat, please.”

After I ate the sandwich I thought, what the hell, I’ll drive to the other end of the rainbow (seriously, sometimes I really need something to do). The other end of the rainbow (how can something have two ends? Does that mean the beginning’s in the middle? This is messed up) was in a grass field behind a grade school. I was not at all surprised with what I found at the other end of the rainbow: two teenagers smoking a joint.

“What’s up?” I asked them.

“Not much. Just toking the pot at the end of the rainbow,” said the taller of the two longhairs.

“How long have you been waiting to use that one?” I asked.

“Twenty minutes or so,” said the stoner. “What you doin’ here?”

“I guess I just don’t have enough to do.”

“Wow, man. I never have that problem.”

And then he inhaled deeply.