Pot Story

This is what happened at our home today.

I am outside and a van pulls up and opens their side door. Four young men jump out and the air smells like a money cage as the inside is littered with blankets and food and sleeping bags and garbage.

They linger about and sprawl out on the terrace–granted that is not ‘my lawn’–expect I plant and take care of it all–so, yeah it kind of is our lawn.

I had no real problem until they lit a joint. I meandered over hoping my slow pace might alert them so I would not need to confront them. No such luck.

Me: You are not really going to smoke dope on my lawn, are you?

Smoker: (as he moves fast to pretend there is nothing to see) You a cop?

Me: I can get a cop here if that will help resolve this matter.

Fast movement as the four take a different perspective of where they parked their van.

Count me as one who does not want that crap ever made legal in my state.

2 thoughts on “Pot Story

  1. Solly

    Good for you Deke. I applaud your own version of the castle doctrine. No one should have to deal with that in their home space. I guess you took somewhat of a chance. Maybe you should have enticed them to move with a bag of Cheetos. But then you lost me with your last sentence. I hope you were wearing your Carrie Nation black dress and hatchet to make it historically accurate.

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