CHRONIC.le

By Omondi Otieno ØS

CHRONIC.le is for the outliers, for those who don't fit the "mold", for the bold, for those who dare to colour outside the lines. It comprises four stories and a poem. They are stories of angst and bliss, stories of struggle and resolve, stories of darkness and light.
CHRONIC.le was written with the help of a few friends whom are forever held dear. Special thanks to you for sharing your stories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Omondi Otieno ØS
• Release date: Aug 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005385453

Omondi Otieno ØS

i'm black sheep of the family, philosopher in the making, struggling writer, unconventional artist, born sinner, disturbed soul, badass visionary.

Book preview

CHRONIC.le

Featuring:

4:19

hotbox

Airplane mode

The Captain

No More (poem)

Copyright 2020 Omondi Otieno. (ØS)

Smashwords Edition

4:19

Just be you and I’ll be all that I can be. – Swae Lee.

I sat back on the couch and looked with pride at my creation, a masterpiece indeed. I looked over to Ivy, who was sitting next to me with her feet on the couch, for approval. She nodded in approval of what I had created. I let it lie on the table for a while as we both marveled at the wonderful creation. The table was littered and evidently crowded, as it was small, with all kinds of things: two phones, a laptop; logged onto http://420.andrewray.me/ with a countdown timer on the screen; it read 1:03, an old school style fountain pen, some pencils, some papers; some of them written on in my semi-elegant handwriting, some of them drawn on with Ivy’s brilliant drawings and some unused paper piled at the corner of the table with an eraser and pencil sharpener on top of them, a couple of self-made filters; most of them good but not good enough for my special creation, a packet of WeTop rolling papers, a pack of ndovu matches, a herb grinder, a box of afia mixed-fruit juice, two partially drank glasses of juice and of course the buds; broken down pieces scattered on a large portion of the table, the rest packed away in the clear plastic, zip-lock G-bag. I picked up my wonderful creation for a closer inspection. It was about 8cm long, conical in shape, the top just slightly wider than the bottom, the filter took up about 2cm, the broken down buds inside were tightly packed and the top was closed off with a twist of the excess paper. Indeed I had outdone myself; it truly was a work of art. I passed it to Ivy for approval, as I did I noticed my fingers were all sticky and green with the buds but I didn’t mind. I had opted to break them down with my fingers instead of the grinder so as to pay homage to tradition. I watched Ivy as she playfully fiddled with it turning it this way and that inspecting it closely; gripping it every which way, between her