It was at the end of spring break, and I was on my way back to school in Vermont. I had left Chicago that morning, and had a couple of rides, and was in Ohio. The highway had some kind of funky curb guarding the entrance ramps, and it was hard for cars to pull over to pick me up.
It’s very important to establish and maintain eye contact with any potential ride. In this case, it meant that I could see that the driver wanted to pick me up, but didn’t know where to go. I pointed to a clear section of the shoulder, and he pulled over.
He was a young guy, perhaps 25 or so. I immediately noticed that he was playing Bruce Springsteen on his tape player. At the time, I hated Bruce—I just didn’t like his style of music. We drove for a few minutes, and then he moved funny for a minute. I looked down in the bench seat between us, and there was a large baggie of brown marijuana.
He was delighted to find out that I had a pipe. He would then grab enormous buds and stuff them into the bowl, seeds and all. He kept doing this every five minutes. Two hours later, he let me and my headache off on the wrong side of Cleveland
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