Every Friday at 4.20pm The Hempstore in downtown Auckland has a public anti-cannabis-prohibition-session (as in pro cannabis). A few pro-cannabis signs get thrown in the ground, a big joint gets rolled and subsequently passed around the circle (to the left) of relaxed looking inner city dwellers. No-one pays much attention, those that feel like getting high for free swing by the circle when they see what's going on and for the most part the police, historically, leave everyone alone.
Those of us with no obvious signs of mouth disease tended to hit the joint first, before its release into the myriad of slightly less well-to-do city crawlers who would assemble there religiously on Fridays. This guy (joint still in hand, mid jab) seemed intent on proving his martial arts capabilities to me and my camera. He had the most eery pale blue eyes, shifty body language and an awkward restlesness. He seemed the-wearer-of-all-the-chips-in-the-world-on-his-shoulder, as well as the-bearer-of-the-answers-to-all-the-world's-questions and, yet, remains a drifter with no direction in a haze of alcohol, pot and the smoke of his ever present cigarettes with no answers left for himself.
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