I just found this thing. It was in one of the cobwebbed cubbyholes in the dark eaves of my mind. It happened. It’s clear when I take it out and look at it. I know that no one would want to hear about it and few would be believe it. I know I’ve told some people in my life. But in genius fashion I seemed to know those people would not last in my life. Sometimes I wonder if there is something living in the garret with all those memories that tends them and harbors them for the final judgement.

I never told my sister that her then husband (now ex,) tried to coerce me into having sex after asking me for a massage. (It wasn’t unusual for me to give him a massage so don’t go thinking that I was “asking for it”.) I never got high with him again after that. He used to get me high. He was a fisherman and always had pot on him. Not unusual for the 80s where I came from. You’d be hard pressed to find a fisherman now when back then they hitch hiked everywhere.