My only other adventures with illegal substances were during a down-and-out spell in the early 1970s when I was working as a dishwasher in New Rochelle, New York. A fellow wastrel introduced me to acid, which he bought as discolored round patches on paper strips from a gas-pump attendant at the local Hess station. The sensory effects were just as weird as advertised, especially (in my case) the auditory ones. Trust me: You haven’t heard Electric Light Orchestra—not really heard them—unless you’ve taken a tab of acid beforehand.
All right, a misspent youth. I haven’t smoked pot for thirty-odd years, though I suppose I would if it were offered in a social situation and I didn’t have to drive home. My passing acquaintance with the stuff gave me some perspective, though. I can’t see much harm in it—not as much as there is in prohibition. Let ’em smoke it if they want to.