Duke’s hand was wet.
Not soaking, but damp in the way that means something had either spilled recently… or someone had cried. Duke didn’t remember crying, but with him, you never know. The little Lhasa Apso named Niles was staring up at him, his old tail wagging like a half-charged metronome. Louie was passed out, breathing softly under the glow of a pink neon crab. Duke’s fiancée was still thumbing through her camera roll.
“I know we ate something,” Duke said. “I just don’t know what.”
“Something with lime,” she replied without looking up. “And soup. There was definitely soup.”
The air still smelled faintly of lemongrass and old oil. Somewhere behind them, a man was ranting—enthusiastically, not angrily—about how papaya salad cured his arthritis. Niles barked in agreement. Louie walked two paces for cooler pavement.
Duke leaned against the wall of the strip mall and lit what was left of the Limonene Liftoff. The bowl hissed as he pulled. Bergamot and mint. Citrus and sandalwood. Smoke that makes you feel like you’re walking through a flower field built on hot concrete.
“Okay,” he muttered to his fiancée through an exhale of smoke. “Let’s retrace.”
Limonene Liftoff Rewind
Two hours earlier, Duke had been splayed out on the living room rug, semi-recovering from a regrettable peanut butter edible incident. His fiancée suggested a walk. Louie lifted his head—he’d heard the magic word. Niles spun in confused little circles by the door.
“Little Saigon?” she asked.
“Only if I can pick the strain,” Duke answered.
Limonene Liftoff had been calling to him since the jar arrived. Bright lime green buds, sharp and fluffy like a pomeranian with a plane to catch. The scent was all citrus blossoms and herbal soap, like Earl Grey and Thai basil had a baby.
Autumn Brands made it. Clean-grown, sun-fed, women-owned. The jar looked like something that belonged on a shelf with raw honey and pickled vegetables at a farmer’s market with zero parking. It tasted like lemonade after brushing your teeth. Tangy, refreshing, a little disorienting. Not for everyone, but absolutely for Duke.
By the time they hit the freeway, Duke had already forgotten about the edible disaster. And by the time they hit Little Saigon, he was starving.
On the move with Autumn Brands
They passed four pho spots, three boba joints, and one pop-up hawker stand where a guy named Khanh was selling “fermented juice.” Somewhere along that stretch, they’d eaten something transcendent. Something citrusy and salty and warm enough to slow time.
Limonene Liftoff wasn’t just an appetite enhancer; it was an aperture shift. Everything got a little softer, a little shinier. The din of traffic became a hum. Neon lights smeared in the rain puddles like watercolor.
It didn’t blast Duke into orbit. It just… untied his knots. The tension melted into gratitude, and Duke was gliding. The type of high that made room for clarity, not confusion.
Even if, ironically, he couldn’t remember dinner.
Back to the present
Back in the present, Duke turned the corner and stopped.
“There,” he said, pointing at a yellow plastic chair outside a nameless storefront with no sign. “That’s the broth smell.”
She squinted. “That’s not even a restaurant.”
Louie barked once. Niles whined. A man inside waved. Duke waved back.
“Whatever it was, it worked,” he said. “I feel like a new man.”
“That was the weed, not the soup, my love” she replied. “Both,” Duke said. “It was definitely both.”
And with that, they wandered on—full-bellied, half-baked, and content to let the rest of the night reveal itself one neon-lit step at a time. The case stayed cold, like the last sip of broth after a long meal. But Duke had what mattered: his lady, his dogs, and a stomach that wasn’t complaining.
Read the full review on the Budist app.
