A true story: I had just moved to Philadelphia area from New York and met some new friends. Fred told me about a concert coming up in
upstate NY and since I had a car, he wanted to know if I wanted to go with him and two other friends. We actually bought tickets. Fred had just gotten back from CA where he met the chemist who invented MDA and the guy gave him 1,000 (yes, 1,000) hits to pass around on the East Coast. They were small, pinkish pills. One of the other guys, Mike, had two kilos of pot to sell at the festival. Our festival started as soon as we hit the road. With more pot than I had ever seen in the car, we smoked joint after joint until the ashtray of my Pugeot 403B was overflowing with roaches. They were all over the place. We would still smoke 'em with the windows closed so we wouldn't waste any smoke. Since I had just moved to PA, my car's registration status had not yet been updated and the NY inpsection had just expired. We were cruising along on the NY Thruway on Thursday. It was my idea to leave a day early in case of traffic. We had none - absolutely none. We were about the only car on the road. As we lighted about our 50th fatty, my little car got a flat tire. No worries - that's until a NY state trooper passed going in the opposite direction. He saw us and immediately turned around. Uh Oh!!! Out of his car comes a trooper in full regalia. Sunglasses, trooper hat, and an attitude. First thing, he looks around the car and tells me to get out. He looks in the car and almost chokes and tells me my inspection is expired and he's going to take me to town to have my car impounded and searched. First thing I think is do I want to go to Attica or Sing Sing. The trooper tells my friends to change the tire and he tells me to get in his car to go see the judge in town. No handcuffs and I get in the front seat. We drive to town. Somehow keeping my calm I decide I have to do something so I start a conversation with him. Small town life must be great, his car is a technical marvel, etc., etc. We get to the courthouse and the judge is having lunch at his house. He left me in the front seat right next to his shotgun! He gets back in the car and we drive to the judge's house to get my car impounded. Conversation continued along the way and by this time he's calling my Larry and I'm calling him by his first name (left anon.). We're buds, him in his uniform and me with hair going all the way down my back. We drive by the judge's house and he looks the other way and says, "I don't see his car, I guess he's not here. Let's go back to your car, Larry." This is crazy I'm thinking to myself but somehow keep my composure. We get back to the car and the tire is fixed. Thanks guys, but you could have stashed the dope somewhere. Duh! My friends can't believe this guy is my new friend. He says he's going to give me a warning ticket and tells me how to get it expunged when I change my car registration. He asks us if we're going to the Festival and we say yes. Overcome with good feelings for my new friend, I ask him if wants to join us. He actually thinks about it for a second and then says he kind of wants to go but is on duty all weekend. Huh?
We go on to the festival, park right across the street. There were only a few thousand people there on Thursday. Fred and i made ourselves comfortable near the stage and take some MDA and smoke some pot. Each time we turned around, we were taken to a new level and the crowd continued to grow. What great but strange, strange daze.

Larry B