So, like twenty-five years ago, I’m standing at a highway exit in Sacramento, middle of the night, trying really hard to hitch a ride to Berkeley, where I have a floor to crash on and nothing is happening, hour after hour. I still had residual shakes from a very bad ride over Mt. Shasta with an AWOL Marine, his 15-year-old paramour and a six-pack of Miller pounders. Fear, you dig — the Marine drank the beer. Plus, it’s getting cold.
And this guy picks me up — he’s going to SF. After three or four minutes, I notice he’s shaking rather worse than I am. He asks me to roll him a jay and I do. (In California at that time, this was not an unusual request and I smoked shag — Three Castles — back then, so I was not inexpert at it. Did I mention that I was wearing an onion on my belt?) He tokes a bit and seems more at ease. He’d been up five days, he says, big job. Snorted way too much speed.
Trucker? I ask.
No, he’s a pipefitter. Nuclear submarine. Big rush job.
Guess that’s why those sailors get hazard-pay, I say.
But he was already nodding out by this point and we had to stop for coffee. A lot of coffee.
This story, which will entirely defeat machine translation — sorry, guys — has nothing to do with this model.
Please note the little circles I put on the left side of the CP. It will show you where to put the edge of the circle to make the nice curve fold. Intersections on a hex grid. Like sands through an hourglass, so are the days of our lives….
