Rich Larson The new millennia is the Trojan horse of the old . . .” Arvo takes a neat little puff off his vape. “And older still, the sling of it unborn. Jeff Bien.” His construction-gnarled knuckle taps his temple. “Got that one memorized.” We’re highway driving, and I’m almost too high to make conversation. I breathed too deep from that same vape, and earlier I ate a half-crushed handful of shrooms from the baggie in the glove compartment, so that plus the beers and the blow has me all kinds of fucked up. It’s always been my stance that