After being released from the U.S. Navy, I lived in an apartment building in Norwalk, California with two of my friends from the service.  Moe (not his real name) was a friend I had known at Clark Center Bowl and I was later surprised to see in boot camp in San Diego.  B.J. (not even close to his real name) was from South Bend, Indiana.  I met him at the Lemoore Naval Air Station where we both worked in the electronics shop.  Moe, B.J. and I enjoyed a carefree, post-Navy life for several months going to movies and sporting events and playing loud music on our stereos.  We were eventually joined by Freda (a good name but not hers), a woman-friend who Moe had met when he was stationed at Whidbey Island, Washington.  Freda quickly became the leader of our "gang of four."

I do not smoke and never have.  However, my friends were quite adventurous in this regard.  I remember one day when I joined them on a trip to obtain something to smoke from a connection known to one of them.  At the place, the three of them tested the product and purchased some.  All of them really started to feel the effect of it on the drive home.  Moe was driving at about 20 mph on the freeway.  He had smile-face and, B.J. and Freda were giggling about the license plate on the car in front of us because it "looked like a tuna can."  I could see that the two-dimensional plate had some resemblance to a can but I was not as amused as the other three.  At the time, I thought that was the craziest thing I had ever done.  [JAM 2/2/2011]