My mother and I were living in the House in South Shore, Kentucky (where I lived when I was 10 years old). A fellow wearing a red cap (pulled down almost over his entire face) came to the door for me. When I stepped outside to meet him, I recognized him as my second cousin Keith. He had arrived in a blue jeep driven by his older brother, my second cousin Jeff. Another fellow who reminded me of Chuck Welton (a high school acquaintance whom I had hardly ever known) was also in the front seat of the jeep.

They were smoking marijuana and they asked me if I wanted some. When I asked them if the pot was any good, they said the pot was about 10 times better than regular Colombian marijuana.

I was in a terrible mood. I told them that I would go with them, but that I would have to return soon because I was being hired by Ron Pasquinelli (my boss when I had a paper route in 1970) to take over a Cincinnati Enquirer paper route. Jeff and the others said they understood because they likewise had Enquirer routes.

I boarded their vehicle and we rode off in the direction of Portsmouth, Ohio. I sat in the back with Keith, who put some marijuana in a pipe. I lit the pipe and took a deep hit from it. The marijuana crackled and a few pieces which looked like brown paper fell onto the floor.

Keith pulled out a jar which contained the marijuana (which was in cubes and looked like croutons). I plopped one piece into my mouth and ate it. When Keith saw what I had done, he put the lid back on the jar. Jeff said that he was selling the cubes for $2.50 to $5 apiece and that they were eight-way hits.

I began to feel rather intoxicated and the sky started to look watery. The vacuous conversation of the others was boring me so I decided to change it and I asked a question about the psyche. When all three rattled off something that Socrates believed about the psyche, it sounded as if they must have memorized what they were saying for a class.