In the past two weeks I’ve watched two drug deals go down in my parking lot from my balcony. Both times the same seller, different buyers. I had my suspicions about him, but I don’t think it should ever be this obvious. And then I think back to my p-o-t smoking days and I’m sure my purchases were just as obvious to my supplier’s neighborhood. Guess I shouldn’t judge…or maybe just be thankful those times are behind me, as it certainly doesn’t make me comfortable watching it.
I still don’t think the p-o-t should be illegal, but not because I want to take up smoking it again. Rather because I just don’t see it as a bad thing. It doesn’t make me uncomfortable seeing these exchanges happening because I fear one of these suburban potheads is going to jump out of her SUV and bust a cap in my ass for being on my balcony, but more because I don’t like being privy to illegal information. I don’t think it’s fair to put super honest me in a situation where the po-lice could ask me questions and put me in a position of snitchery. Because jesiis knows the po-lice enjoy busting small time p-o-t dealers more than rapists or bank robbers.
That reminds me of my high school era favorite singer/songwriter, Wally Pleasant. He had a song back then called “I Hate Cops” and my favorite line was “[sound of police scanner] Yeah Joe, we got an APB out on a convicted bank robbing, axe murdering, sex fiend just escaped from the federal penitentiary out in Jackson. Uh, oh wait a minute, cancel that all points Wally’s meter just expired outside of the store. Yeah, yeah get right on that. Send a SWAT team.” Great song.
And now I nap before my date tonight. Which will be free of drugs, fyi.
