MEMOIR | HUMOR
High Hopes on Venice Beach
A story of temptation and triumph
The Boardwalk of Venice Beach is a dreamland for a fifteen-year-old in 2011. Especially for a fifteen-year-old that’s already discovered weed’s sticky allure, the seemingly unending row ahead of smoke shops and dispensaries could hardly be more enticing.
Is this… is this heaven?
As my eyes glide along the utopian boardwalk wider than a boulevard, I struggle to keep my mouth from watering. Though I’ve smoked my fair share of weed in my adolescent misadventures, I come from a place where most parents fear that a misplaced dime bag could turn a PTA meeting into the next Woodstock. The idea of a fifteen-year-old with pot is still enough to inspire riots in the street from even some of the least conservative of residents.
But here, in the land of stoners, creatives, and dreams — in the mecca of Paris Hiltons, paparazzi, and pot — there’s a bearded man without a shirt standing in front of a store with an arrow that reads “WEED SALE.” In fact, the entire stretch of stores along this beach appears to be lined with his disheveled friends.
It seems that in every single establishment, there’s at least one pot-related item. The clothing stores carry Rastafarian T-shirts, the cafes carry THC-infused…
