Panama Red

I got stoned one afternoon with Panama Red. THE Panama Red, of the famous song. He was no longer in his namesake business, he said, but instead sold used computer hardware to Deadheads. He wouldn’t say where he lived, but it was somewhere in the mountains above Santa Cruz, tucked away, ever wary. The Man, he said. The Man. He gave me a suspicious look, then drew deep from an enormous reefer, and the room was filled with sweet blue smoke.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s