As a teenager, I embraced the excitement of taking a
Trailways bus out of my little white-bread community, cruising into the
big city of New York while it was still in the midst of its most extreme highs
and lows.
The Port Authority Bus Station was ground zero, all acrid diesel fumes, a place where men approached and asked if I would like to see their horn skills…. on a skin flute. Mine.
In Washington Square we scored cheap Mexican pot in balsa matchbook drawers at $5/pop. It was so dry, almost dust really, that a mummified fly went unquestioned. We were happy to get it.
I thought that it was God’s key to the next step. We had achieved, well not achieved so much but we had the technology to wipe the planet clean of all larger lifeforms. What of us, I wondered. Have we evolved socially in any semblance of a parallel line?
Back then, I thought pot was the answer.
In what can only be described as a personal crusade I became something of a Johnny Appleseed for spreading the word, passing joints out the window of my VW Bus on a highway doing 60 with another car of young people pulled too close. I turned on 100s of “first timers” with a pride equal to that of any Seahorse Mama when it releases 1.000 spawn. “I’ve given you life! Go fly, I thought.
Now, as senility grabs an ankle and starts to climb a leg, states fall like dominoes to legal recreational, and I foolishly dare to hope that to some small degree, I was right...even if I was off by about 70 years.
The Port Authority Bus Station was ground zero, all acrid diesel fumes, a place where men approached and asked if I would like to see their horn skills…. on a skin flute. Mine.
In Washington Square we scored cheap Mexican pot in balsa matchbook drawers at $5/pop. It was so dry, almost dust really, that a mummified fly went unquestioned. We were happy to get it.
I thought that it was God’s key to the next step. We had achieved, well not achieved so much but we had the technology to wipe the planet clean of all larger lifeforms. What of us, I wondered. Have we evolved socially in any semblance of a parallel line?
Back then, I thought pot was the answer.
In what can only be described as a personal crusade I became something of a Johnny Appleseed for spreading the word, passing joints out the window of my VW Bus on a highway doing 60 with another car of young people pulled too close. I turned on 100s of “first timers” with a pride equal to that of any Seahorse Mama when it releases 1.000 spawn. “I’ve given you life! Go fly, I thought.
Now, as senility grabs an ankle and starts to climb a leg, states fall like dominoes to legal recreational, and I foolishly dare to hope that to some small degree, I was right...even if I was off by about 70 years.
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