went downtown Carbondale to look for a hip restaurant cuz I’m staying out in little california where there is nothing but applebees knockoffs, soy burgers, and taco hell. parked at the town square intent on wandering the streets towards Southern Illinois University in search of my kind. ah, ha! a dread headed couple walking south on the other side of the street. I pick up my pace. a few blocks and I can cut them off. they know the score for sure. perfect! I dash across the street and approach ’em with a kind smile. “hey dread, where’s the herb?” mind you this is an absolutely hippie looking little bugger right off the campus of UM. beard, cords, you know the drill. the expression on his face shows that he knows, but his lady looks rather dubious of my polo shirt. hey, not all of us have a trust fund. so I have a job, big deal. I’m part of the System. how do you think your parents are paying the bill on the credit card they gave you? what, do you think Haile Selassie is covering that? do you even know who Haile Selassie is? I was burning herb before you quit wetting the bed. I try to stay calm. his face sez yes, but the mouth sez, “uh . . . no.” shouldn’t rasta be rasta despite the ramifications of answering yes to this question, even if I am the law? better give him another chance. “are you sure?” the smell of patchouli lingers in the air as they slink off to his Land Cruiser, dreadlocks between their legs. damn them! its four fuckin’ twenty, for Bob’s sake. go join the Peace Corps or Hitler Youth or something, you worthless poseurs!