Chapter Nine: Be Multi-Sourced
On one of my last days in Cincinnati, I got lucky.
I was at the Marriott, riding in an elevator, working out my two weeks’ notice. Suddenly, a young kid of about 17 or 18 stepped in the lift.
He was well-dressed, with darkish skin and hair. I thought maybe he was Middle Eastern.
He had a tiny little joint in his hands. He saw that I saw it, and looked up at me with shrugging eyes. I knew he was going outside to smoke. I was intrigued.
At the bottom floor, the kid took a chance and said: “Hey, you got any more?"
Now, I knew you could get in trouble for selling weed, but I figured you couldn't get in trouble for giving it away.
I said: “If I see you around in a little bit, I’ll give you whatever I have to give you.”
Later on, I ran into him again in an elevator. I had an ounce left over and I was getting ready to go home.
So, fuck it. I gave the kid an ounce.
He practically did a backflip, he was so grateful.
The kid was like, “Oh man, this is great. Thank you! Here, take my number and call me i…
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