Imagine a bunch of long-haired hippies, sitting around cross legged on the floor, listening to the Beatles, Jimmy Hendrix, etc., and there is this young man on his lunch hour, wearing his three-piece suit, toking on the joint as it’s being passed around. That was me. All the while, I was thinking, “This is so cool, that I have this job; and I also have this other secret life.” The grip of sin and the devil were at work and pulling me right out of my job into what I thought was a whole new and exciting life. I started letting my hair and beard grow, met new friends and smoked more and more dope. Now it was not only on the weekends, but it was nearly every night and would soon be every day ... in fact, all day long.
Not too long after I quit my job and due to the cost of
weed, I would buy a little more than I needed and sell that
extra bit to help offset the cost of what I used myself. It seemed harmless ... and cool. And it worked.
Pretty soon, I met more and more people who were into this life of drugs, music and rock and roll. “Wow!” I thought, “Now this was really the very best thing that had ever happened to me.” Oh, I forgot to tell you that back in NY I had tried LSD once or twice. I remember my friends, Tony and Ted and Ben, offering it to me. “This won’t turn me into one of those hippies, will it?” I asked. “No way,” they said; “It’s cool; you will enjoy it.” And I did. We used to “drop the acid,” as it’s called, when we would drive into NYC to go to clubs. Just the acid and the joint. Nice combination ... or so I thought.
Hair grown out now to shoulder length ... big old scraggly beard ... selling ounces and pounds of weed in plain sight of the state capitol building I used to work in, I started using cocaine and then selling grams of coke — using hashish, opium and any and all other hallucinogenic drugs I could get my hands on. Not uncommon for many in that generation. A flight to Jamaica was cheap, and the pot was everywhere. So, back and forth, Tallahassee to Montego Bay, I went. Many, many times.
Coming Tomorrow, Chapter 3 Part 5
Pretty soon, I met more and more people who were into this life of drugs, music and rock and roll. “Wow!” I thought, “Now this was really the very best thing that had ever happened to me.” Oh, I forgot to tell you that back in NY I had tried LSD once or twice. I remember my friends, Tony and Ted and Ben, offering it to me. “This won’t turn me into one of those hippies, will it?” I asked. “No way,” they said; “It’s cool; you will enjoy it.” And I did. We used to “drop the acid,” as it’s called, when we would drive into NYC to go to clubs. Just the acid and the joint. Nice combination ... or so I thought.
Hair grown out now to shoulder length ... big old scraggly beard ... selling ounces and pounds of weed in plain sight of the state capitol building I used to work in, I started using cocaine and then selling grams of coke — using hashish, opium and any and all other hallucinogenic drugs I could get my hands on. Not uncommon for many in that generation. A flight to Jamaica was cheap, and the pot was everywhere. So, back and forth, Tallahassee to Montego Bay, I went. Many, many times.
Coming Tomorrow, Chapter 3 Part 5
