The Peace Fence, Monterey, California

It was hard to get. You had to have connections. If you looked right, long hair, bell bottoms, tie-dye, you could buy it in the park in a matchbox for two dollars. Two people could smoke a whole joint, and we’d just laugh and goof, and ice cream tasted delicious. They called it Mary Jane because it was mild. Puff the magic dragon, light a joint with your draft card and go get a pizza; brown eyed girl in the park after dark––it’s a beautiful thing man––cannabis slumpus with a beaded vest and a pair of sandals. It was an inside joke, and you had to be cool to know the punch line, but admission was only two fingers in the air and a big heart. Now, a blue suit and a badge is just another customer, along with tinctures, oils, and rubs; kush, flowers, and vape, and edible sativa to help you sleep, heal your pain, and polish your car. And it’s fifty times stronger. But it used to be cool … right. Didn’t it use to be cool?