By the age of eighteen I had consumed an ungodly amount of drugs. It not as if I left the house on a daily basis with an implicit desire to seek out and experience strange and exciting new kicks. The fact of the matter is that drugs most often found their way to me. Granted I did by choice immerse myself in situations where drugs seemed to be the common currency.

            While harder drugs and hallucinogens were save for the most special occasions. My daily stock and trade was marijuana. I often wonder how without jobs we managed to satiate our near unquenchable desire for grass. When cash was low however we had our methods. During our time at the Cattle Club we devised a hideous and effective little con for the procurement of marijuana. On a night when we found ourselves lacking in incendiaries we would head out to the back patio to find our mark. Grass smokers are painfully easy to spot. The most effective way to keep your dope smoking covert is to keep it entirely out in the open. No square would expect a doper to have the audacity to just stand there smoking grass. Would he? In the desperation to make it appear as if they’re not up the anything most folks may as well raise a bright red flag emblazoned with the words ‘We’re smoking dope over here!’. Huddled together in small groups, heads alternately bent down with faces awash in amber flickering light it’s as if they’re begging to be caught.

            Once we had a confirmed visual ID phase two of the plan would go into effect. We would casually walk back into the club leaving the dopers secure in the belief that we were clueless of their actions. Within moment of our departure two of The Cattle Clubs finest would purposefully descend upon them. Being the incredibly friendly bouncers that they were captured pot heads were often let go with a stern warning. However, they never left with their grass. That was ours, a well earned payment for helping to maintain law and order.