Marijuana and erythromycin

Set up the fish-cart next to Bo today, and he was talkative all day, pissed off and blue. He likes to take a day off once in a while, so for the second time in as many months, he'd hired someone to run his table for a few days each week. And for the second time in as many months, he'd had the fire the person he'd hired, for selling pot from the table.

Marijuana should be legal, but I can understand Bo's perspective. He runs one of several marijuana tables on the Ave, selling how-to-grow books and pot patches and t-shirts and stickers, all without either a business permit or "free speech approval" from the city. Being pro-pot and unlicensed is asking for enough trouble, you know? If his table became known as a place to purchase pot, the cops could lock him up and seize everything, including Bo.

Some of the other marijuana tables actually sell brownies or cookies or weed, but it's a risk Bo doesn't take and doesn't want his staffers to take. 

His big downer, he says, is that both the people he's fired were friends, and all day he was grousing that he has no friends he can trust.

I didn't say much to that. What I wanted to say was, "Maybe don't hire your friends, since your friends all seem kinda shitty." Probably he would've laughed at that, but it's not a joke. I've seen some of his friends.

"If I have just one friend on the Avenue," he said as he was re-complaining later, "it's probably Jasper," and hello? Jasper is the biggest jerk in Berkeley.

♦ ♦ ♦  

When the day was done and I was walking home, again I was feeling poorly. Better than yesterday, but still not good. I've been hoping that my weeks of walking pneumonia were over or almost over, but was I sick again? Or maybe it was just a really humid day and I'm a hundred pounds overweight pushing a cart.

When I got home I decided to shower away the stickiness and stinkiness, and stripping I noticed that my t-shirt was dripping wet, completely drenched. I am ordinarily not a drenched with sweat guy.

The antibiotics from the Free Clinic ran out a few nights ago, and this morning I called them for more. But I was feeling better and stupidly told them so, so they told me to wait, and call again in a few days. Which would be Sunday or Monday.

The white stuff that had encrusted my tongue faded a lot while I was taking the pills, but it never went 100% away, and now it's starting to come back.

Lucky me, though -- today an illegal source on the Avenue helpfully provided more antibiotics. She didn't say where she got the pills, and I didn't ask, and her name shall remain nameless, but she also didn't say what the pills were, how strong they are, or how many I should take, how often.

My guess is four times daily, same as the erythromycin, so bottoms up and cheers.

From Pathetic Life #22
Friday, March 8, 1996

This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.

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