smoking weed started off as fun

Lindy was my best friend in junior high and I spent the night with her almost every weekend.  Her room had double French doors with brass handles opening onto a tiny porch, enough for two sleeping bags.  I memorized the sparkling Richardson Bay skyline looking out toward Sausalito streetlights.  Standing like the Supremes, we practiced Stop In The Name Of Love, moving in unison like we were on stage, synchronizing arm movements, making stop, like Diana Ross. Continue reading “loose cannons” »