Hotboxing My Dad: A Weed Trip and the Future Failure of Illinois
I imagine it’s hard to find work when you look like you sleep on a bong-water bed. Maybe not. Maybe this guy could straighten up and look more straightedge and acceptable for any other job. But why bother? In Denver, he could put his vast and exceptional knowledge of cannabis to great use. And he could do it without all the judgement and assholery that comes from a culture which things looking like a pothead is a bad thing. This guy, this stoner behind the counter, was more helpful than any putz at any store you could visit in the Clybourn Corridor.
Andy disassembled his weapon with lighting speed. He packed it away in the black backpack made specifically for a weapon of this sort. He bolted to the roof access door as fast as his little, chubby legs would carry him. He made his way through the condo/office building stairwell without being noticed just as he had done on his way up. Andy was good at his job. And for a nine-month-old baby, he was really good at it.