The old man would give you a flogging for a lot less than dipping into his stash. Not that I’d ever wanted to touch dope. I’d sworn myself enemy to all things that made him who he was, dope being a great contributor. But down behind the shed, where the long grass scratched my shins, I clipped off a decent chunk. The buds felt like furry balls of cotton. I zip-locked it and stashed it down my jocks.