John MacKay, Nederland.  The morning line can get long at the New Moon Cafe, but there are always new friends to talk to. Last week I met a young man there who called himself Jee. Nice enough guy, strangely dressed, I figured he was from Ward.

“No, I've never heard of Ward, it must not be in my territory,” Jee said. Then he pointed to the coconut macaroons and asked, a bit too loudly, “Dude, have you tried these? Sometimes I think I could kill for them.” It seemed like he really could. Not that he struck me as a murderer or a bad person, he just really liked those macaroons. Which, if you've ever tried them, you'll understand.

Occasionally when you meet someone, the two of you immediately click. We did, so we made small talk in line, and then we shared a table out front. He clearly was not from around here, so I asked, “What brings you to Ned?”

“I'm on kind of a working vacation – hit up the dispensaries and the microbrews, do some boarding at Eldora. I'd love to see a moose, it's been a long, long time. And check on the people while I'm here. For my dad, I work for him.”

I asked a few more questions and Jee became evasive, almost uncomfortable. So I told him the dispensaries didn't open until ten, but if he'd like, we could get lit in my truck. Which was conveniently parked, as usual, in one of the Town Staff Only parking spaces. I did not have to say it twice, this guy apparently liked his weed.

We ate a couple of mango gummies (the ones with the hash resin), took a few turns on my trusty Pax 3, and Jee's eyes glazed over. “This vape is smooth, I've never hit one before.” I pointed to the Silver Stem and told him I bought it from there. “Amelie's shop?! You've got to be kidding,” he said, “everybody knows Amelie where I'm from, she's one of my dad's favorites.”

How does he know Amelie, I thought to myself. She's the town's secret jewel, and he's not even from Ned. But before I could ask him, Jee, now completely chill, asked “What's with all the Frozen Dead Guy signs and shirts around this place? What's that about?”

I explained the event, and its demise. Jee faded away for a while, and when he resurfaced he said “That's probably for the best, man. You really shouldn't be celebrating death. It's not pleasant. I know, I've been.”

This was getting weird. But we were on our third load with my trusty Pax 3 – the green one, by the way – and he didn't seem a physical threat. By now he was so high he was practically liquified. The reporter in me knew there was something special about this guy, and it was time for me to drill down. Maybe I'd get a story out of it.

“Come on, Jee, you're talking a lot of shit here, who are you? Who's your dad? And what are you doing in Ned?”

He thought for moment, or maybe I was losing him again. Then he got this 'fuck it' kind of look on his face, tried to sit up straight in my Chevy's bench seat, and, after swearing me to secrecy until his vacation was over, said this: “My dad is known by many names, the one he prefers is Jah. He says the people that call him that are the ones who really get him. The others, not so much. They use his other names to get your money. Or worse, your kids. Anyway, he sent me here to check on some people, make sure they're doing what they're supposed to be doing. I'm like his HR department, but without all the paperwork and confusion about pronouns.”

That was all pretty hard to digest. Breaking it down while I repacked my trusty Pax 3, I nudged my now comatose new friend awake, and asked him, “Which people? Which people are you checking on?”

At this point Jee hit that vape like he was taking a big ole Southern swig from a bottle of Jack. He choked, and hacked, and coughed, for a good two or three minutes. After wiping the spit and coconut macaroon bits from his lips, he answered.

“All of them. Well, all of you. No, all of us. All the creatures on this earth, man, we're all in it together. Nobody is better, or worse, than anyone else. My dad doesn't divide us into groups, like saved or unsaved, chosen or damned, Baptist or Buddhist, Black or White, American or Latvian, red or blue. That's all bullshit, man. We are one. Except the cats, of course, they truly are better. You should do what they say.”

And then it hit me. I put down my trusty Pax 3, looked right into his eyes, and asked “I think I get it now. You say your name is Jee, but really it's . . .”

He interrupted the question with his answer. “That's right. My dad's message has been getting a little stale, no one seems to be listening, so I thought I'd update the brand. Like Kanye did with Ye.”

I wanted to suggest he rethink that, but when I looked over, Jee was gone. Probably to get more macaroons.

(Thank you, Brian.)