by Phil Kaplan
Jamie sold quaaludes.
Micky was the weed dealer (he usually had Acapulco Gold).
Crackerjack sold hash and sometimes had baggies full of Dexadrine.
And then there was a section where powders and the dangerous stuff could be found.
Cars would pull in, folks of all shapes, colors, and sizes would reach out their windows, buy their drugs, and car engines would roar as they’d head off to concerts, gatherings, parties, and whatever the weekend held in store.
Every once in awhile a police car would pull in, everyone would disperse, and 20 minutes later business would resume.
As the buyers pulled away with their merchandise they were fulfilled.
They could now have fun. They had their drugs.
I was 16. Not yet old enough to drive, but I went along as a passenger (had a crush on a girl named Gail who was a regular at...
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