The rent’s due and they’re out of weed, but professional stoners Bill and Ty won’t let anything ruin their high. From one sketchy friend to another, they smoke their way through schizophrenic street pushers, shot-up war vets, and Mexican marijuana farmers in the Mile High City of Denver.
Oscar takes another hit and thinks for a moment. “Well, let’s see—I’ve been shot at five times. Hit with a bat twice. And once this cow of a woman came at me with a hot iron, swinging it over her head by the electrical cord, on account of I went to arrest her husband.
“Now most people take it okay. As soon as I say, ‘you’re under arrest,’ their bodies just go limp.
“But then you’ve got the people who want to give me lip, make threats, or do something really stupid like pull a gun. It takes balls to deal with those people. But I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve, like a million volt stun gun I bought at a police supply store. And my poker buddy Ronnie is a cop. I can’t believe they let that dumbshit redneck wear a badge and carry a gun—always talking about how he can’t wait to use it.
“Yep—I’ve seen just about everything there is to see. People coming to the door naked, dripping with sweat and sex. Drugs. Kids left to hang around in their own filth. Hell, I even found a dead guy. See, I rang the doorbell and stood on the porch for a minute or two, and all the while this awful smell is just building. So I go around to a side window and peek into the living room. Poor bastard’s rotting away in an overstuffed easy chair. Never did get my bond money.”