Now gather round, Little Jeremiah, and Suzy, and Baby Ezekial, because Grandpa Huams has got a bedtime story that'll tickle your frontal lobes. It's a story of triumph over adversity, of generosity, of knights and dragons, and it all starts on a monday evening, in the proverbial springtime of Grandpa Huams' life.
You see this story takes place in a world you never knew, a world devoid of Mechanical Horses and Digital Inebriants. A world in which people read books, and thought 'Minority Report' was futuristic.
So on this Monday Evening, your Grandpa Huams was on his way towards the center of Philadelphia with his pal, your Great Uncle Dank (you do remember His Dankness, do you not? Pa-Pa's friend who looks like the white version America's second black President, President Murs). Anyway, ol' Dank and I were planning on doing some bowling. We were headed down to 'North Bowl', a beer-Bar with a profound sense of Feng-Shui, to do some drinking, and to ogle Maurice's hot sister. But on our way downtown we hit what was, at one point in my life, a manifestation of innate human imperfection: Traffic. You see you don't know much about traffic, what with all these newfangled Horse thing-a-ma-gigs. But there was a time when Man waited, as a collective, communal rage crescendoed, in swarms of automobiles on mis-engineered byways. For more detail, see "
Traffic". Shameless Plug.
Well this traffic was like no traffic I'd ever seen. And as we watched Maurice put his car in reverse, and shimmy backwards out an entrance ramp*, we began to doubt whether this mass of cars was moving at all. So Dank, in a moment of fortitude and foresight and fore-skin pulled a Hughie (a.k.a. U-Turn) and started to exit on the entrance ramp. In the midst of this illicit act we noticed a man and a woman strolling along the ramp's shoulder. I glanced quickly at the back seat, unoccupied, and looked to his Dankness, saying "We've got room..."
As is (and was) so typical of his character, Dank was down. So we picked up this pair of strangers, who were, like us, headed towards Northern Liberties. The man's name was Sage. The woman's name slips my memory. But the man's name was Sage. As in like, wise old dude. Which seemed fitting, not because this man was either old, or wise, but because he used the word 'Stogie'. He said: "You guys got any Stogies?", which seemed to me, like a Sagely way to begin a conversation. And when we replied in the negative, he followed with "Well I'd smoke you up with some chronic, but I left it all in the bushes out front of Delilah's".
Now this was before the age of the Virtual Vagina
™ Porn Industry. See when I was a lad, if you wanted a lap-dance, you couldn't sit, in the comfort of your own home, while a hologram titillated your Johnson. No, we had to go to 'Strip Clubs'. And Delilah's was Philadelphia's best, because Delilah's was not your average 'Strip Club'. Delilah's was a steakhouse. And the only thing classier than getting a lap-dance from a first generation immigrant who is half your age, is getting a lap-dance from a first generation immigrant who is half your age, while eating a T-Bone Steak.
In short, we became fully aware that the man in the back of the car was not your average Joe, he was a class act. And judging by the effective non-response of his partner, as well as by her accent, dress, and general demeanor, I think it's safe to say that Sage's girl was a prostitute. So then the gears in Sage's thinker start turning, and he says "Actually, we'll be driving right by Delilah's on the way to 'North Bowl', if you don't mind, I could pick up the chronic, and smoke you guys up. It's OG Kush."
Now back when weed was illegal, it was pretty easy, in Philadelphia, to get your hands on some shitty weed. All you had to do was get in touch with Dank's brother. I mean, some of his stuff was more chemically akin to Oregano. But 'OG Kush', now that was the good stuff. And His Dankness and I knew it. So we pulled over at Delilah's, and Sage jumped out of the car, cool-jogging over to a decorative hedge. You know what I mean by cool-jogging: All the efficiency of a jog, and all the swagger of a strut. But his 'tute saw right through it. I turned to Dank, chuckling "This Guuuyyyy..." and from the back of the car came "This boy is crazy, don't even look at me though, I just met him".
In almost no time, Sage was back, and we could smell his bag of devil-lettuce from the front seat of the car. So we pulled out of the Delilah's parking lot, and as Sage started to pack a bowl, he realized that we were driving by the apartment complex to which he had hoped to take his new-found friend. So he said, quite non-chalantly "Oh shit, this is my stop. I don't have time to pack this bowl, so why don't you just take my weed". He tossed an eighth of the nicest weed I've ever smoked into the front seat of the car, and he hopped out of the car with his girl.
The weed had been ground to a powder-like consistency, and we smoked it in a fatty blunt while playing scrabble in Nick's living room.
*This all too common driving practice illuminates quite a legal ambiguity: It is, quite undeniably, illegal to drive the wrong way on a highway or a one-way street, but is it illegal to drive the wrong way if your car is in reverse? Surely it's legal to put your car in reverse, but how far must you drive in reverse before you are breaking the law? Only experimentation will yield an answer to this troubling conundrum.
The Moral of the Story is: Don't Ever Take Candy From Strangers.
