Yesterday thunder called in the distance at 8 PM as the news channel broadcast that it was 90 degrees outside. I went for a walk with warnings from the air conditioned family not to get heat stroke. I had weeded in 100 degrees on Wednesday. I got outside and wanted a jacket. It was about 65 and breezy. Again, the weather reports are gaslighting, and all but myself and one other walker in this community of 10,000 are huddled inside around the air conditioner, convinced it is sweltering outside.
As I walk around the farmland converted 40 years ago to a burb, I see four different skies: streaks of mist to the south, piling thunder heads to the east, puffy clouds of white underhung by inky wisps to the east, and to the north, an undulating sea of hybrid clouds lit pink by the sun that was never seen on this day. It took me an hour to start to sweat a little bit, a nice, cool, pleasant summer evening. Yet we are told it is a sweltering hell. This morning, the sky is clear, the sun strong and the air humid and sticky.
Yesterday as he picked me up and drove me out here, Uber Joe showed me where Harford County was cutting down the woods at the I-95 Cloverleafs and turn offs to eradicate homeless camps. Heaps of lumber and fences now replaced the deciduous woods, a good acre of maple and oak by every ramp, now being clear cut. Just as in Baltimore County and Virginia Beach, homeless crackers have been multiplying and migrating in camps in such wooded areas in increasing numbers. The increase in mass transit service, which seemed to have been sparked by the need to transport millions of illegal immigrants over these past 4 years, has helped white trash such as myself as well. But whereas Africans and Latinos are greeted with open arms by local governments, the white trash must be eradicated. Africans go into new high rise apartment building and drive new SUVs. Crackers live in tents and sleep on pallets in the woods, and are still hounded, at the behest, as in Plantation America, of the civic race know as the Whites.
Uber Joe, my brother by law, is involved in car shows. He opens his phone and shows me a picture of something he calls a Bently that has Bond villain written on the grill. It is owned by a friend from high school who now owns a chain of legal weed dispensaries. The grosses over 4 million a year and nets 2 million. He got his start selling weed in high schools around 1989.
“I never smoked weed—never even drank. I do wonder what weed is like, since so many people are addicted to it. But I’m afraid I’d get addicted, and your sister would kill me. It was such a big deal. Almost everyone smoked weed. And I was a big guy and either got along with the big black guys or had beaten their ass. I never smoked, that made me a good dealer. Sometimes I sold at bus stops—most of the time. One guy used to drive up in his Ferari, the car that Magnum PI used to drive, and buy his weed on Friday. I got my supply of weed from my friend and generally pulled about $1500, gross a day. He would take much of that, for resupply and profits. It was strictly a school thing. So the weekends were not work days.
“Once, I was in the boys room, and this teacher caught me. He was pretty cool, and told me, he would not turn me in as long as I gave him some weed. So that became my protection money. Everyday I’d bring him his weed in a Royal Farms coffee cup, with lid, of course. That’s how I stayed out of trouble. I found out years later that some of the other teachers were also in on the weed deal.
“Here I am, never got high. Went into the Navy, served my time, did not bring the brick of heroin back to Dover in my duffle like most of the guys, worked my ass off—never missed a day until I had my heart attack—and I’m broke, delivering food for a living, my house auctioned off. But my friend, who never did anything but deal with weed, he has a house in LA, Seattle, Chicago, New York—going to buy a house in France. Its just crazy, like some people have a crystal ball and the rest of us just have our employer and the law.”
I inform him, that through three sources in the legal weed business, I happen to know that the dispensaries work mostly with illegal weed, grown with Chinese money, on Mexican cartel land, in USG parks, with the use of unpaid forced labor imported from the poorest nations in Asia and Latin America. Legal weed is being ruthlessly pushed out by illegal weed with the overt and even eager cooperation of the states that have legalized it. The State of California prefers illegal weed for its government dispensaries. The people working the legal weed harvest are being laid off as slave labor pushes them out of work and their bosses out of business.
Uber Joe shrugs his shoulders, “That makes sense, its the government, and the government has never been anything you can trust. It seems like its a good idea, that bad people take advantage of to screw the rest of us.”
…
As I left, two hours later, the clear blue sky had been invaded from all directions by line clouds, swirling clouds, budding puff clouds, ominous thunderheads, small inky under clouds, many hanging as low as the morning fog did yesterday, making Mid Atlantic skies this spring and summer reminiscent of those in the Pacific Northwest.
