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I Miss My Pot Dealer, Dirty Lou

Weed Dealer

SANTA CRUZ—Felix is my name and I’m damn old… I’m so old, I remember a time when cannabis was called reefer. There was only one kind of reefer then, well mostly. Sometimes some Thai smoke would come around… anyway, I used to get my stash from my weed dealer Dirty Lou. He lived at the beach in a bungalow down an alley near the boardwalk. Well, that dude died a couple months ago, so I was like, Oh shit, what am I gonna do now? And for any every-day smoker since 1965 that’s just not something you wanna think about. So of all people, my grandson Evan tells me I should get my medical marijuana card, so I can get some help with my glaucoma.

weed dealerNext day, I’m walking into what used to be the 99-cent Store, but now they call it the Green Tide Coop or some damn thing. I walk in, show my new fancy ID and head past an armed guard. What the… I almost shit until I realized he wasn’t the fuckin fuzz. Damn, why’s he armed? So I walk into a room, the smell hits me before anything… and it’s just me and a 21-year-old pierced girl that tells me she’s my “buzztender.” What the… and her name is Jill. She asks, “Do you like stevia or indigo?” I say, “I’m here just for an ounce of reefer, weed, ya know, grass?” And she looks at me like I’m a dinosaur. I tell her to give me a quarter of whatever she’s smoking. “Oh, I don’t smoke flower anymore, I only dab concentrates,” she says. I just vaguely nod a Lebowski acceptance of that statement, having no clue what she’s talking about. So I ask for whatever the best deal she’s got is, and Jill comes back with a sheepish smile, offering me a smell of what she calls mixed shake. It looks like reefer to me, smells like reefer too. She tells me that I can have an ounce of this for $10… I throw my money at her and burn on home. Jill was cute, but I really miss Dirty Ole Lou.

-By Rocco D’Eugenio