Dream of: 24 August 1975 "Broken Sunglasses"

While in Portsmouth, Ohio, I bought a pound of marijuana from Phil Lane (who also seemed a little like other Portsmouth acquaintances from my teenage years, Leroy Maggard, Steve Buckner and Mike Walls, all rolled into one). Lane and I transported the marijuana to Lane's house and after descending to the basement (which seemed like the basement in Buckner's house), Lane and I sat in a little cement-block room. Having already rolled some of the marijuana into joints, I pulled out a joint and lit it. Lane and I sat smoking until the joint became rather small. I then stuck the joint backwards into my mouth and blew smoke through it into Lane's mouth.

We decided to leave, walked outside and boarded a car. Lane and I weren't alone in the car - someone else was sitting in the driver's seat. Lane sat on the passenger side of the front seat while I sat in the back seat. After I stuffed the marijuana under the dash, we rode off.

As we rode along, Lane told me a little story. He said some black fellows had attempted to steal all his marijuana and Lane's father (whom I pictured as looking like the father of Mark Upton, another Portsmouth acquaintance) had encountered the blacks in the basement and had paid the blacks $300 to leave. Lane said he afterwards pressed charges against the blacks, who were subsequently fined $430 and sentenced to 30 days in jail.

 I asked Lane to pull the marijuana out from under the dash and hand it to me. Lane pulled out the marijuana (which was in a container resembling a long, thin, rectangular, candy box) and after he handed the box to me, I stuck the box in the inner pocket of the long, green, army coat which I was wearing.

As we headed for the state liquor store on Gallia Street, I remembered my father had earlier warned me not to go to the liquor store. When we nevertheless arrived at the liquor store, we stepped out of the car and walked inside. Lane only wanted to buy two packs of cigarettes. Since I didn't smoke, I didn't want any.

While in the store, I looked at the bottles of alcohol and noted how expensive they were. When I saw a bottle of Tom Collins among the bottles, I remembered that Buckner used to buy that particular brand. I thought about buying a bottle, vacillated and decided not to. I then saw a bottle of whiskey which looked like a bottle of chocolate milk. Somehow the chocolate milk and whisky had been blended together. I thought about how good it must taste.

After Lane had ordered two packs of cigarettes, things became confused, and the store clerks tried to force Lane to buy 20 more packs. Somehow I became entangled in the mess and the clerks tried to compel me to buy 70 packs of cigarettes.

Cheap broken pairs of sunglasses were lying all around the store.

I tried to plead with a police officer who was in the store, but I had no success. I felt a trifle like Josef K., the main character from Franz Kafka's novel, The Trial.

Worried about the marijuana in my coat pocket, I feared the people in the store knew I had it. I remembered my father's having told me not to struggle, but to simply give in.

When Lane and I were finally able to leave the store, we carried the cigarettes (and some broken sunglasses) in a plastic bag to the prosecutor's office, which was down the street in a building beside the Laroy theater. After we walked into the prosecutor's office and told the prosecutor what had happened, he said that the whole thing was ridiculous and that we didn't have to buy the cigarettes. Relieved, we returned to the liquor store and informed the officer at the store of the prosecutor's words. We deposited the plastic bag with the cigarettes and broken sunglasses on the counter and left.

Lane and I got back in the car, which Walls was now driving. We rode off and bustled recklessly, drugged, through the streets.

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