Here we were, in better times. He was a retired school teacher, spent his whole life immersed in that millieu, we couldn't have been more diametrically opposed politically and philosophically, but we were as tight as can be. It was probably the weed. We called him the Professor not because he was a school teacher but rather because he was a pot connoisseur; the man carried a briefcase with so much product and gear it bordered on the absurd. And he could smoke and drink me under the table.

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