A very long time ago, I lived in a city where there was this place called Cook's Tavern. Cook's was in a black neighborhood. It was the place to go to when you couldn't find any weed anywhere else. People were sort of afraid to go there. It was the source of last resort for young white college boys. But if you had to go there, you generally didn't have to go inside. You just pulled up next to the place, and within a minute or two a dealer would be tapping on your window. You could generally do the deal right there at curbside. Sometimes the guy would want you to step back into an alley with him, which a lot of people were too scared to do. The guy would want just one person to go with him, and the bravest person always got sent. So I got sent every time.
But a couple of times, the dealers weren't working the street by Cook's. The police would be watching the street too closely, so the dealers moved business off of the street until the heat died down. During those times, the only way to score was to go inside Cook's. I wasn't afraid of Cook's, and I would go right in. The other white boys would wait out in the car, practically pissing themselves. I would be inside enjoying a beer and scoring some weed with a bunch of black guys and listening to some great blues. The terror of the white boys waiting out in the car for me was so fucking funny to me.
Brian reminds me of those white boys who would sit out in the car, pissing himself.
But a couple of times, the dealers weren't working the street by Cook's. The police would be watching the street too closely, so the dealers moved business off of the street until the heat died down. During those times, the only way to score was to go inside Cook's. I wasn't afraid of Cook's, and I would go right in. The other white boys would wait out in the car, practically pissing themselves. I would be inside enjoying a beer and scoring some weed with a bunch of black guys and listening to some great blues. The terror of the white boys waiting out in the car for me was so fucking funny to me.
Brian reminds me of those white boys who would sit out in the car, pissing himself.
We do not inherit the world from our parents. We borrow it from our children.
