I'm back. Back with the sun, back with an iced coffee and a keyboard in front of me. Back with the shirtless freaks and the burnout artists. This whole town smells like blunts.
A pretty woman all in green asked me, "Are you ready?" The sign behind her said the doctor was in. "He'll see you now // He doesn't care who you are."
I fear the mainstreaming of medicinal marijuana. In a state where you can get a card for insomnia, anxiety or chronic pain - conditions that anyone can claim, and they do - it does a dual disservice. It trivializes the usefulness of marijuana as medication, while potentially slowing the process of full legalization. But it's a stopgap. A compromise. Maybe it desensitizes people to the issue and lays the groundwork for a more reasonable legislation. There are more important problems to solve. Let's get some of these easy ones out of the way.
A man said, "Holler at me bro, you wanna know about god?" He was surrounded by big sheets of plywood covered top to bottom in scrawled scripture.
I told him I didn't really.
"He knows where you got that camera, man."
I said, "Oh yeah, that dude knows everything."
He makes a compelling point, but you'd think an omniscient being would have more substantive concerns than my Nikon. Rick Santorum doesn't have any bleeding sores or disfiguring boils and he's wasting bandwidth thinking about my camera? If he's out there, and proliferating the Word through the loonies on Venice Beach, he's got some fucked up priorities.
Some kids skate the bowls at the end of the boardwalk. A young girl passes slowly on a scooter, drug-eyed and laughing an unbidden laugh. The gulls huddle on the trashcans. The dead fish smell like dead fish.
Then this happened.
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