Anti abandons the internet.

ditching wood shop class to go hit blake's double bubble, graffix two foot, acrylic ba-zong seems JUST LIKE YESTERDAY.

those were the days that trained me. back then i didn't even cough when i ripped a fat cloudy one, i had lung made of steel. nowadays my lungs are about as strong as a wet sheet of toilet paper.

once a friend of mine had some buddies coming in from humboldt county, and there were driving down 5 pounds to sell off real fast and make some quick $. (it's hard to sell pot in humboldt for a decent price, that's like selling sand to the desert.)

after a few days of nickle and diming their way around town, i got a jungle on my phone to see if i knew any big players who might want to buy a at least a pound.

i knew of such a guy. we called him "one stop" because he was an underground/black market superstar. you could show up for some weed, and leave with shrooms, ecstacy, some weed, and maybe even some high end hand held electronics that "fell off a truck"

so i hollered at One-Stop, and told him what was brewing. One-Stop said he was very interested because he liked a lot of weed variety. at least 4 or 5 several batches.

so it was set. the humboldt dudes were sitting in my living room watching a movie on my tv, sitting very close to their 5 pounds of dope, guarding it. And one-stop was on his way from gardena to my apartment in long beach, calling every 10 minutes to make sure he was on track with the directions.

that's when the girl i was trying to get to date me called, and said she was in long beach, and wanted to swing by real fast to say hi. "umm... yah ok, im not busy, sure, come one over."

she arrived after one-stop had already gotten there. one stop and the humboldt boys got along famously, immediately deciding that my bathroom had the best light for scoping out the different bags of weed.

so me and that girl on are on my living room couch, and she can barely pay any attention to me, because over my shoulder there's two white boys, and one black dude holding pounds of weed over their head, in the hallway next to the bathroom.

i tried to calm the situation by telling the girl that this was not an everyday thing for me, and typically my house isn't the spot where thousand dollar weed transactions take place.

the point of the story is, i lost One-Stop's phone number, and i wish i still had it, because i would totally do some shrooms right now.