I've told this story here before, so if you've heard it just move along.
I was 16. Had run away from home. Rented a walk up studio with a buddy of mine in San Francisco. WHAT a beautiful city it was then. sigh. Clean and fun and lots of hippy chicks ... what a great place and time to grow up. The worst disease you could catch could be cured with one shot of penicillin. Coke was really coke, not cut with poison, 95% and cheap.
Anyway. Our studio was over a pizza shop in the Tenderloin.
The guy that owned it was a middle-eastern gent. We decided that we were going to grow some pot. Scored a seed or two from a dime bag of mexican and planted it.
Bought a street light at a flea market and set the thing up.
Yea, it blew a couple of fuses, but we jury rigged more power from his kitchen which was right below us. I believe it was 480 volts. Prolly 10 amps.
All went well for a few weeks. Then it began to smell. I mean it smelled like a skunk crawled up Bob Marley's ass and died. The pizza guy was all, "what the hell is going on?"
We reassured him that he was gonna get some smoke too.
Then, one day it was SO bad. She was smelling very fertile. He bangs on the door, all freaked out. "Customer asking questions. Stinks. Plant must go. Or you must go. Maybe BOTH need to go ...."
"Ok, ok Mohammod. We can fix this."
So, I score some flexible ducting, and a small in line fan and we take up the toilet and feed the duct into the sewer.. Good idea, right?
LoL
It did smell a lot less. For a while.
But, in about three days THE ENTIRE LOIN SMELLED LIKE POT. I mean for blocks in every direction. It was coming up in houses and apartments and businesses in a nine block area.
The cops are going door-to-door knocking and sniffing. It was just a matter of time.
Mohammad was beside himself. LoL.
And we had to harvest fast and early.
He kicked us out.
I still gave him an oz of flower.
Herb Caen was a famous writer for the SF Examiner and he actually wrote an OP-ed about us. Well, not about US, because we were never caught, but he wrote about the 'ambiance of the Tenderloin' and wondered at its source.
Everybody did except me, my roomie and the pizza guy.
If we'd of gotten caught it was worth a Nickle in Quentin back then. Only good thing is that I'd of done the first two in Juvie.
Or, as they called it back then, "Gladiator School."
How DID I ever live to be as old as I am now?
I've had many adventures thru my life ... I am convinced that my final words on this planet will be "Here, hold my beer."
.
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