My friends and I all had tickets to see the Grateful Dead up in Boston and I had this great weed saved for the trip and the concert. I don’t know why I was paranoid about transporting my weed, but I was so I stuffed my bag inside of a container that held scented talcum powder. We rented a hotel room that had enough room for twelve of us to stay in and we arrived the day before the concert. When I got to the room, I took my bag of weed out and rolled up some joints, but they were spoiled from the scent of the powder. Nobody would smoke my joints, as they burnt your throat and they had a revolting taste. I was a bit disappointed about this, but live and learn as they say.
I went out for a walk with three of my friends and we went through this area known as the Combat Zone where all of the prostitutes congregated. We were not looking for sex, we just wanted to see what was going on there. These two girls came up to us, so we started talking with them and one of the girls started rubbing my crotch. I felt her other hand on my wallet and I grabbed it and said, “Honey you got to be a lot quicker than that to rip me off.” After this encounter we went back to the hotel and told are other friends to watch out for the pick pockets.
Written for Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday where the prompt is container.