The Dolphin Tavern used to be a topless bar where junkies shook their loose limbs for dollars to feed their sickness. A hideout for regulars to marinate in Yuengling while their wives did loads at the Laundromat next door . . .
It was one of those days when the snow started and wouldn’t quit, so we bought beers and drank them and didn’t stop until long after dark and anyway, we were out. The apartment seemed all stained and yellow and stank of rancid burger grease. The snow just kept coming. We needed escape . . .
Gumbo and I tossed a Frisbee, waiting for our mamas to call us in for dinner, while Danny, another one of my brothers’ friends, screamed by from one end of the block to the other, passing within a few feet of us on his gigantic chopper . . .
I always told myself that I’d never use anything stronger than pot. I was a middle class kid away from home, NYU, my second year of art school, and hard drugs scared the shit out of me. But pot, I loved it. I smoked in the morning, afternoon and night. I’d go to school stoned, paint stoned, fuck stoned. It was 1970 and I was living on Avenue C. It looked like the set for an end of the world movie: deserted tenements, bums, hustlers, junkies and pushers on every corner . . .
To celebrate the publication of The Marijuana Chronicles in July, we’re pleased to offer all a set of all four Drug Chronicles titles (Marijuana, Heroin, Speed, and Cocaine) for only $30, plus shipping, while supplies last!