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potheadreturns2

hahahaha!! yes mtt, I know, I live a couple blocks away from 7th heaven, the area is horrible! I need to move back to the suburbs! Ah, well uh, read the story .

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2

 

schwadood

man the more i read the more impressed i am with this. it needs a little edoting, a little refining, but i really would love to se the finished product. hell, i'd buy it if it got published. keep it coming dude!

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peace and much love

Mtg_dk

When will we get some more story dude?

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I'll see you on the Dark Side of the Moon.......is 4:20 a good time?

Mtg_dk

When will we get some more story dude?

vivrantv

Your story was inspirational and very immersing. Thanks for sharing it.

 

imported_CaitiQ

Story is really coming along. You have a great knack for describing things just as they would appear. It might help a little bit if you used other senses than visual, like touch and smell. Other than that, it is very impressive and intriguing. Keep going.

potheadreturns2

Sorry it's been so long, I've been busy with 4 books so I haven't had much free time to devote to writing. Also I will apologize now because chapter 3 isn't very long, there simply isn't too much to tell about the trip home. However my great pillgrimage is not far away now, I get my liscense next week and my car that week or the one after, and as soon as that happens I'm out to experience part 3, this time with a tape recorder and a journal.

3
I blundered my way around the streets for a while longer, wondering to myself if I was going in the right direction. Finally I decided to stop and ask an elderly man for help outside City Hall. He pointed for me and I walked parallel to his finger all the way to the entrance ramp. I started walking hopelessly towards Kansas City as if I might be able to make it there on my own two feet if no one stopped. My hand felt awkward as I lazily waved my thumb in the air to passer-byes. Much to my surprise, and clearly defeating what I had been told about hitching rides in the past, a dark blue F-150 stopped within the first minute. I ran up to it and told the man I was going to Kansas City and got in, forgetting what I told myself earlier about memorizing the moment of seeing my first hitched ride stop twenty feet ahead of me. The driver was middle-aged and fat, with a strangely police looking mustache on his face. As we drove and drove he talked and talked, asking me question after question, when all I wanted to do was hang my head back into the thick air of the truck and sleep. We got into Johnson County and he dropped me off at a fork, wished me luck in my adventures and rejoined the traffic.
I went my direction while walking backwards, this time frantically flailing my thumb at the cars while they passed and left me in the dusty fumes of a highway. Once again someone stopped for me shortly after I got onto the road and I bolted over to the Cadillac and jumped in. She was a sexy Mexican with a big body and long brown hair. We conversed for a little while and I fawned over her accent while we drove through downtown Kansas City. She was so very nice, that she went out of her way to get me to where I needed to go. She turned onto Paseo assured I knew what part of town I was in though I didn’t, and I guided her unconfidently and she dropped me off at my doorstep. I got out and thanked her, getting one last look at her plump beauty, before walking back into my house as the hero I felt like at the time. I conquered every dark road and corner of that god forsaken little town, and had a damned good time doing it. I popped into the shower and then into bed, and fell asleep to the melodic tunes of Incubus.

imported_CaitiQ

Hell yeah... fall asleep to Incubus.

potheadreturns2

Alright well here are the first two chapters of part 3.... I can promise you that part 3 will be the most interesting one of all, which is what I think is the problem with this story is interesting.... but this one won't have that problem, because tooooo much **** happened. Well instead of talking about it I'll write, here ya go:

3


1
My cousin John had to leave Kansas City to work in Indianapolis for a few months and he had no connections for weed there. He Western Unioned me some money to buy an ounce and a bus ticket. When I picked up the money I started looking for weed immediately. By the time I had to leave for the bus station I was still waiting for my connection to show up. As I walked out the door he walked up to my house and told me his connection would be there in a few. I waited and surely enough he showed up and I naively handed my money over to the guy and he burned off with my cousin’s hundred. The golden rule when it comes to drug deals, I’ve learned over the years, is never hand your money over before you receive a product. “Oh well” I thought, “It wasn’t my money.” I got in the truck with my dad and we tore off to the bus station and I got there just in time.
I ran up to the counter in a hurry to buy my ticket only to be met with the classic bus station laid back easiness and confusion. Two people were in front of me, the first decided to strike up a friendly conversation with the cashier. I’m all up for friendliness, but this was a place of business, with transactions and people needing to make those transactions as fast as they can. I held my tongue. The next person in line was Mexican and barely knew English. On top of that, he couldn’t find his wallet. I looked over my shoulder. The last in line was on the bus now, and they could have and probably should have left at any time. They didn’t and I knew it was a break. I lost my tongue.
“Hurry up!” I said excitedly. They looked to me as to ask who I was talking to. “I don’t mean to be rude but my bus might leave.”
“And whose fault is it that you didn’t get here earlier?” Said the cashier, a peppy, scrawny looking brunette with big frames. I didn’t want to argue. I wanted to catch that bus.
“Look, ya see, I’d have been here earlier if I could have been here earlier, but I couldn’t you see and now I need to catch that bus!” The Mexican in front of me found his wallet and paid, as slowly as he could it seemed. Of course it seemed slow, all things seem slow when you’re in a hurry.
I got my ticket and hopped over the same ropes that were there so long ago when I went to Texas, and tore out after my bus. I got on and sat down as the bus pulled out of the station and on to those crazy downtown Kansas City streets.

2
There was a layover in St. Louis and the next bus was two hours late so I had some spare time on my hands. I had brought along Jack Kerouac’s On the Road and read through the part where Sal Paradise himself had a layover in St. Louis while going east, on his way home. “Wow,” I thought. “This is the same bus station my hero stayed at fifty-some years ago.” It wasn’t until later that I realized the bus station had changed locations five years earlier.
I struck up a conversation with a black guy named E. and his white girlfriend while I waited. I mentioned weed to him and he said that when we got into Indianapolis he could find us some at $120 an ounce. We talked about California bud for a while until the bus came and we had to sit in separate seats. I slept until Indy and woke up ten minutes or so after everyone else got off. I got my bag and stepped outside to see E. and his girl Jennie waiting with my cousin and I was ecstatic. I ran up and hugged them both as I yelled their names. Evidently E. approached John when he got off and knew who he was immediately.
We all headed to John’s Oldsmobile Alero and got in and headed off into Indianapolis under the direction of E. When we got to the place, John handed over one-twenty and I knew what was about to happen before he had a clue, and before he knew what hit him I put a crisp hundred dollar bill in his hand and said “He just got you.” After fifteen minutes we walked up to the house he went into and peeked in to see that it hadn’t even had the drywall put up yet.
We got back in the Alero and sulked back to his hotel room. All we had to smoke for the night when I got there was a blunt mixed with some white girl. We took out about half of it and headed to the grocery store for munchies. We raided the cheese section and then hit the snack bar aisle, where I found a kiwi sitting lost on the shelves. “Look at this, John! Just a kiwi sitting in the middle of nowhere.”
“I should throw it across the store, ya know, over the shelves and all.” I agreed and he did it, and we walked off coolly, trying to attract no more attention than a flying Kiwi deserved. We laughed as we stumbled past the wine aisle and I was over come with compulsion to get drunk. Damn my cousin! Twenty years old for two more weeks. I scanned the overhead for eyes in the sky and saw none. I broke formation with my cousin and acted casual until the area was clear and I stuffed as many wine coolers as I could into my pockets and walked over to John, who didn’t know what just went down. I asked him for the keys to his car, but of course he had no idea why and didn’t bother finding out, so I left him there and burned out to chill by the car until he was through. I smoked cigarettes and waited for twenty minutes before I decided he was in there looking for me. So I went back in and searched the area but he was no where to be seen so I went outside and waited patiently by the doors to catch him on the way out.
I lit up another cigarette when two casually dressed men in their twenties came up to me and spoke. “Hey what’s up…. Did you forget to pay for anything?” The one said. I felt corny even thinking it but I knew that the jig was up.
“No, whadda ya mean?” I asked with a blend of innocence, nervousness, and confusion
“I mean those wine coolers in your pocket. You didn’t forget to pay?”
“No sir, I don’t have any thing but my cigarettes, my lighter and my money.”
“Well why don’t you just empty out your pockets for us and we’ll be done with it.”
“Are you cops?”
“No.”
“Well then I’m not doing anything like that.”
“Then you’re gonna have to come with us.” I stood. I considered my options: Run or go to jail. I didn’t place any stock in my legs and went with them scheming the entire way.
They got me into the back room and told me to empty my pockets on the table. I spoke up for my Fifth Amendment rights and they emptied the pockets for me. After they had their proof they sat me down and took down my information. Since I had no I.D. my name was Ryan Perkins. They called the police and told me about the church. It was an hour before the officer arrived to throw away my cigarettes and put me in cuffs. As he started up the car I turned around and saw the saddest Oldsmobile Alero pull out of the lot, confused and not knowing what to do. There I was, under arrest in Indianapolis having ****ed things up again.

potheadreturns2

3
The cuffs were very tight and the ride was very scary. I smiled. There was nothing I could do to stop the process now, so I dug the trip there. Ah, what marvelous things there were to see; the night sky, the expensive cars that drove by, the trees swaying gently in the wind. We pulled into the station and the cop got out and walked around to my side and ordered me on my feet. He dropped me off in the station and took all my money before going on his way. There was a dirty looking whore in the station who sat next to me while they processed all of my information. They patted me down and put me in a cell with a sleepy looking guy named Chuck. We talked and I got the basic format for the place from him. Apparently I’d be in a cell with him for a while, until they had a space available for me in Intake.
In this cell there was a toilette, a sink, and two skinny benches on either side that I fell asleep on. When I woke up there were two more people in the cell with me, both black and thugged out. The first, named Dan was heavy set and younger than me. He had been on probation and was caught shooting dice on his front porch. The second, JD, was caught slinging dope and was having a great time in jail. He laughed consistently and harassed the guards. After a few hours they pulled us all into the back to shower and gave us jumpsuits and slippers to wear.
At this point I was very tired, I had about 3 hours of sleep in the past two days and would have done just about anything for a bed. I sprawled out on the floor and tried to rest until they took me to the sleepy Intake in the back, where there was a bed waiting for me. I slept through the rest of my Sunday, barring a shower, meals, and my one phone call, which I made to my dad in Kansas City. I explained to him what had happened, and asked him to smooth things over with my boss, which he didn’t do to well since I was jobless when I got back home.
Monday rolled around and I spent my time sleeping, eating, and harassing the guards. I was brought out of my cell to talk to a parole officer named Mickey, who had been in touch with my dad. The plan was to get me out of there Tuesday afternoon and send me home on the bus with a pre-purchased ticket paid for by my dad. There were no charges being pressed and I was left with a simple fine of $100. Tuesday finally came and I was free, free again. They gave me back all of my clothes and a check for $73.20, written out to Ryan Perkins of course. Mickey took me out to the bus station in his car and let me smoke cigarettes that I bummed from waiting passengers while we stood idle in wait for my bus. One guy I got a red from was named Pat. He was a 16-year-old musician from Florida who had his bass with him. He could play 543 Dave Matthews’s songs, he told me. He was a very cool guy and a good liar.
My bus was an hour late and a sight for sore eyes. I had a short conversation with a Mexican while I was waiting in line. He was just laid off from his truck driving job and heading to see his family in New Mexico. I was lulled to sleep for most of the ride by the angelic voice of a black woman behind me, singing along with her Walkman. We got to the St. Louis layover around four in the afternoon. My trip home had just begun.