From: pez@manhattan.com (Gizmo) Subject: The Adventures Of Smacks Past (Part 12) Only In California Date: 1996/09/20 newsgroups: alt.drugs.hard In 1968 I went on a cross country trip to the bay area of California. Somehow I managed to clean up before I left. I was determined not to go back to doing dope anymore. So me and two other friends headed off to the great west coast, in a Renault, from New York City. We actually drove almost straight through, so the ride took us a little more than 80 hours. When we got there, the first thing we did was to go to Golden Gate Park and try to score some Marijuana. In short order, that's what we did. Sitting under a shade tree, we rolled up the smoke and got stoned. I can still remember that day. As the pot came on, for a moment I thought I was in Central Park in Manhattan. Then I snapped back to realizing I was in California! After that we found an apartment in a small town 20 miles north of San Francisco called Crockett. The landlord was the usual hippie type, with long hair and as we paid him our first months rent ($70) we couldn't help noticing all the skeletons and skulls in his house. One of us asked him, "excuse me, a, where did you get all those skulls?" He replied with a smile, "Oh, those are former tenants who refused to pay!" Eeechhkk. Anyway, that nite we're down in Berkeley, on Telegraph Avenue and me and my friend Gino decide to try to cope some dope. In no time at all we're buying a $25 bag of brown dope. And sure enough, I'm off and running again. I ran out of money in a few days, and had to resort to the usual hustling to buy drugs. So on this one Sunday Morning, having had the experience several times in New York, I decided to try a little breaking & entering. In New York, I would often roam the neighborhood during the daytime and knock on doors supposedly looking for someone, until I came upon a house that was empty. Then I would simply check the front and back door. In those days, a lot of folks left their doors unlocked so it would not be long to find one that was open. Anyway, here I am in the land of the love generation and I decide to do the same thing. I go walking down the street and start the process. The first house was empty but the door was locked. The next house, same thing. The third house I came to, I knocked and knocked and having received no answer I decided to try the door. Locked! I went around to the side and tried the side door. Locked. Working my way around to the back I notice a kitchen window that looked open. It wasn't very high off the ground, so I decide to try to pull myself up to the window ledge. In short order I jumped up, pulled myself up to the ledge. I'm halfway leaning into the window when I get the shock of my life. Sitting there at the kitchen table is a long haired hippie freak who glowers at me and then says, "come on in." The usual, "what to do?" Of course at first I thought, I'm out of here. Then the usual light bulb goes on. I figure if I run, he might come after me. Also, I'm real sick so I figure I might want to try to work the situation to my advantage. Something told me it was going to be all right. Pulling myself completely into the house, the guy at the table says, "so, what are doing here?" I decide to go for complete honesty. I told him I was strung out on hard drugs and that I was there to try to find some money in his house! He's still looking at me, then he says, "want some coffee?" By this time, I'm a bit dumb struck. Sure, said I. He asks me about my "problem," and about what I'm going to do about it. I make up some bullshit that I'm planning on kicking when I get back home. This conversation goes on for about five minutes. He tells me, he's thinking of calling the cops, etc. Then finally, he asks me how much money does it cost to buy what I need. I tell him $25 bucks. To my great shock, he reaches into his pocket, hands me a $20 bill and tells me to get out, the same way I came in, warning me that if I ever came back again, he would kill me. Now this shit could only happen in California in the 60's. Such a deal. Copyright Gizmo 1996