fromthemouthofmoi

I remember all three puffs vividly. I remember who I was with, where I was and what I was doing. But before I recall those puffs for you, let me give you some background. I grew up, thankfully it seems, with a parent that droned into my head that marijuana usage led to heroin and heroin led to prostitution. In my mother’s mind it was all a train ride to hell. What I was never informed of was how it was obtained.  My teenage years never saw the stuff beyond standing at bus stops, or at social gatherings where someone would inevitably, with an arm outstretched and a joint pinched between thumb and forefinger, would say: Do you want a hit? I’d never been present when someone actually purchased marijuana and no one had ever offered me a ‘hit’ in exchange for money. It just never happened, so I never put two and two together that marijuana actually cost money. It was always presented to me like a garden yielding too many zucchini’s to eat; you shared the bounty. So when I was fifteen, a