Having been recently discharged from the Army, and without much of significance going on for myself, I was set adrift. Life in San Francisco had been a big party. We were living a Hunter Thompson novel, and I dread to think what nonsense I had perpetrated on my fellow workers at the Army HQ while out of my mind on LSD. Needless to say, life was a blur.
Marijuana grew in the streets and Patty Hearst lived down on the corner with the SLA. You just never knew what was going to happen next.
One fine spring day I woke up to find my neighbors loading their truck with bags, the contents of which I could only guess about. A brief scuffle ensued, at least that’s how I remember it, because next I found myself in the back of the truck, among the bags smelling heavily of only the finest. “Boy, it’s ‘bout time you seen Dallas.” I remember hearing. “There’s someone there I want you to meet.”
