Appearance-wise I probably fit in well enough walking around that little festival organized by NORML, National Organization to Reform Marijuana Laws. I don’t in any other way — I… um… don’t do weed.

Actually the whole scene makes me a little bit dizzy. I imagine it’s all in my mind. After some procession of musical groups sing some white reggae, 60s psychedallic throwback rock, and folk music that makes frequent references to getting high, the speaker comes to the fore and shouts out the last call for bids on a “Bong autographed by Tommy Chong!” — the stage somewhere near an outlet marked “4/20 Candy!” — a candy that has gotten a number of parenting groups angry because they fear it’s aimed at the children, when quite obviously it’s a good hook for stoners of any age.

Three police officers patrol the area. I mentally cross out the word “cop” and replace it with “pig”, just to get in the spirit of this scene. I don’t know quite what they’re looking for — nobody appears to be actively dousing toking, but it appears that the majority have probably done so within the previous hour. The “pigs” float around the closed-tents, unable to walk in and probably ultimately not particularly wanting to, and thus it appears their accomplishments in apprehending a mass of misdemenors happening in their midst are awash.

God bless the honest business vendors, I suppose. I grew weary, and floated away. There are worst things and there are worst groupings of people, and I do not begrudge them.

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