My Pot Thing and Murder Friend
I looked out and saw my house was surrounded by police with guns drawn.
I’ve found myself embroiled in legal trouble again. I usually do little to get myself into it. But for whatever reasons I seem to become embroiled in the middle of some storm that requires me a lawyer to get out.
I don’t really like trouble. I prefer peace and quiet actually. But trouble loves me, adores me, and wants to spend the rest of its life with me.
Last week, and for the third time in my life, I looked out the window and saw my house was surrounded by police with their guns drawn. You would think that after the two other experiences it would start to be less surprising, but take it from me, it’s not. It surprised the hell out of me, especially because I had no idea why they were here or for who. I was reminded later of the time my friend and I got busted for having some pot.
I didn’t want the pot. To be honest, it’s not much my thing. I tried it in high school and again in college, listened to a bunch of reggae, and went on a late-night Taco Bell run, but it lost its impact on me after that.
I grew up in the country and farmers’ kids grew it on the south side of barns. It grew tall and stinky with little effort. They’d…
