Originally Posted by redietz
Summer of '73; working construction in Atlanta; met a guy recently back from 'Nam in my apt. complex, I heard he had weed for sale.
I sold weed to cover the cost of my personal use so I looked him up; extremely paranoid, fucked up guy who answered the door with a .357 in his hand.
Bought a pound off him; it was NOT the same stuff he let me try; instead it simply did not get me high, i.e. a male plant.
I went to complain to him and got only a death stare: uh-oh.
The guy was fried, beyond Zebra, and 'Nam obviously caused it: he was a LRRP, i.e. long range reconnaissance patrol member who'd be out in the bush sneaking around with minimal support for extended periods of time; yeah, that'll fuck a guy up.
Not being one to narc, I wound up selling it at school to the blacks, who just couldn't get enough of it.
Two of my buddies served in 'Nam, both have "issues," both physical and mental, and both get full VA disability for it.
War IS hell; how can we sheltered spawn of the suburbs possibly remain unaffected by its myriad horrors?
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