While living in an apartment on the fourth floor of a building (similar to the building which housed my rue Saint Jean Apartment where I lived for three pleasant months in Quebec City in 1986), I heard a knock at the door, answered it and found a fellow standing there who reminded me of Bernard Moreau (a downstairs neighbor of the rue Saint Jean Apartment). He wanted me to go to an apartment on the second floor with him. Since I was already wearing a jacket, I said, "OK."
After we had descended the stairs, Moreau knocked on the door of the apartment. Whoever was inside was taking his time about opening the door and Moreau told him to hurry up because the girl was getting impatient (he was trying to make whoever was inside think a girl was out there with him). When a clean-cut fellow opened the door, he seemed surprised to see me there. I walked in and found five or six guys standing around. I had seen some of them before, but I wasn't really sure who they were.
It looked as if they had quite a bit of marijuana and they were getting ready to smoke some. One fellow was breaking apart a compressed "brick" of marijuana which probably weighed about half a kilogram. A joint was lit, passed around and finally came to the fellow who had brought me down. Since he didn't think I smoked, he started to hand it past me, but when I reached out my hand, he gave it to me.
I took a hit from the joint, passed it on and immediately regretted what I had done. I began to worry that if the police were to come now, they would be able to detect the marijuana in my system. And since I was aware that the marijuana was in the apartment and I hadn't left, I was just as guilty as anyone else there. I was suspicious presentiment that the clean-cut fellow who had let me in might be an undercover agent and that perhaps the place was about to be raided. I walked over to the clean-cut fellow and said, "Tell John that I went back upstairs." (I thought John was the name of the fellow who had brought me down.)
He said, "OK. Steve."
My leaving didn't seem to disappoint him. I didn't say another word to anyone and I walked back upstairs to my apartment.
I knew that on the next floor down from my apartment was a movie theater which I thought showed pornographic films. I really didn't want to see any, but I thought I might ought to go there just to hide in case the police did come. They wouldn't be able to find me if I were in the theater. Instead, I just stayed in my apartment and contemplated the law in Canada. I thought, "Well now that I've gotten out of there and I'm up in my apartment, I don't have anything. They won't be able to arrest me for anything cause it's not illegal to have it just inside your system. I'm not in possession of any marijuana now."
But I still felt badly for having smoked any marijuana to begin with.
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