I was a good boy throughout the 1960s.
I did no drugs.
I drank beer, fought in senseless brawls, and drove my 68 VW Beetle like it was my father's Delta 88.
The summer of 1970 was my baptism into the drug culture.
Coming back from the Surf Nantasket after seeing the Chosen Few I smoked a joint in my VW Beetle with Tommie Jordan. The reefer had no effect until the lights on 3A in Hingham. The red light lasted an eternity and we laughed with the joy of cannabis enlightenment. It was never as good as that moment.
I've done everything. No confessions. Only the truth.
My mother says I lost my edge.
She was right and in many ways I wish I could say I had never done anything, because no high is better than the rush of holding my daughter. I'm a better man now. I moved to Thailand was to remove myself from sources of temptation. Billions have been spent by the DEA to combat the spread of drugs without any success.
The prison was packed with offenders and the justice system is overloaded with cases prosecuting. Drugs are everywhere. It is time to admit failure. My side won, for even the President of the USA is in need on a fix, judging from a recent photo.
Desperate and I know.
I worked at the Bains-Douches in Paris. One night Jack Nicholson and Ron Woods entered the club. they gave me the same sign, only they wanted 'downtown'. GW doesn't play that game. He's a reborn Christian. Temptation is only a knock on the door away.
Look what happened to Clinton on a snowy night.
Intern
Pizza.
No sex
History.
No one can be strong forever.
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