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‘Smoking a Joint Behind a Dumpster’
On Fisherman’s Warf, San Francisco, CA 1971: A Checkered Demon Caper

Whenever gearing up for the imposition of your masculine will, one must be cognizant of the grim fact that it is more likely than not that someone is going to impose upon you first. What follows is an excellent example of tactical thinking on the part of an outgunned underdog

I was a hippie jewelry-maker, smoking a joint behind a dumpster on Fisherman’s Warf and this policeman catches me. He has his billy club and is poking me, saying, “Where did you get it?”

I told him, “I can’t tell you that.”

He prods, “You better tell me where you got that, or I’m coming down on you.”

There was this Harley standing nearby which belonged to a Hells Angel. I had seen this man and had come to an assessment as to his quality. He was in a bar or something. I pointed to the bike, to the seat specifically, and said, “It’s in there, the stash is in the seat.”

He let me go and advances on this bike with a tactical folder and I made off. A friend of mine, who sold pipes, recounted the remainder of the happenings.

I was inspired in this solution by reading a comic in which the dope was kept in a motorcycle seat.

The cop takes his knife to that seat and is tearing the stuffing out of this seat, and the owner of the bike The Hells Angel a formidable man, interrupts this police investigation and lays on a terrible beating and turns that cop every which way but loose.

He then gets on his bike, seated on the torn-up seat and drives off.

I must say that living in San Francisco at that time was quite enjoyable.

Who Created These Norms Anyway?

Clown or Hyena, It Doesn't Matter to Me

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