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Banter

• You know what they say, ‘Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.’ That’s not true; in the case of this story, this is a true thing that somebody else did. So why should I hate on him? It’s my friend Max. Not Max the photographer, a different guy. You’ve never met him. But he, like so many of us in those days, you know, and many young men and women of good will, who developed a real taste for black tar heroin. But, like, everybody’s dealer- the dealer would go in and out of, 'Ah, I’m getting out of this business so you can’t call me this weekend.’ And I really have a theory about- I don’t know if you know that dealers do this but smack dealers are into this, it’s like doing this real 'cut you off, turn it back on, keep you dependent on them’ thing. Who could’ve imagined that the person dealing heroin to you would turn out to be an amoral monster? Strange world! So anyway, our dealer is going through one of his periodic 'I’m not going to sell to you’ moments, which I’m assuming it means he got enough money and doesn’t need anybody hanging around his house right now. So, Max drives into Orange County into the housing projects, where he knows you can get it, but we don’t know what to do once we get there. It’s not a thing we know. And I say 'we’- I wasn’t with him this day. thank God. Because he went and scored and he was very excited it worked so he pulled over on the side of the 57 Freeway in Orange County to fix and nod off instead of- I guess his idea was 'fix and then get back on the freeway’ but he didn’t do that, because he nodded out. That’s when the California Highway Patrol came up behind him and asked him how he was feeling, with a needle of heroin on the seat and he went to jail. And so… well… And then years later I think 'Man, remember that one time when Max went to Garden Grove?’ (2011-03-29)

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