Gumball

When I was 6 years old, I moved to San Bernadino county for the summer. Desperate to make friends, I tried to pal around with the errant criminal tykes around the apartment complex I stayed in, with my Aunt Rose and her soon- to- be ex-husband, Vaughn.

The pool for the kiddies always had a floating turd in it and the adult pool was gated and the water was murky. It was too hot to be outside anyway and the blazing ‘90+ desert degree heat only amplified the chlorine and putrid pool’s urine-like smell.

One day I saw a few kids playing with cap guns so I introduced myself and as a peace offering they gave me some caps to set off along with this shiny red ball they said was a jawbreaker. I sucked on it and it tasted awful but they called me a pussy and said that if I kept sucking it would get sweeter. It turned out to be the inside of a Stretch Armstrong doll, was completely toxic and I threw up for an eternity. My new ‘friends’ left me, passed out, in the bushes and, when I came to, it was after dark.

I got a whipping for stumbling home after my curfew by Vaughn and I was just so ill and just very sad.

That’s when I sort of discovered pot.