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I suppose it began when Pat gave me three pot plants. She was moving to Washington State and left me the plants. I put them in the front corner window where they got lots of afternoon and early evening sun. And that is how I began smoking pot, picking off leaves now and then and experimenting with it. I didn't do it for fun or for social entertainment. I did it as a tourist at first. Having traveled all over Europe, I discovered that when stoned, I didn't need to go anywhere very distant; that every place I already was a different world, and I only had to tour around in the city. And that is mostly what I did,r took the bus some place and then walked around.
San Francisco was a great city because it was so small, compact, but with infinite variety of pocket neighborhoods, where evidence could be seen of so many foreign countries and nationalities, where every Victorian house was a work of art, with sculptured facads and painted pastals. And San Francisco had Golden Gate Park, a vegetative wonder-world in itself. And especially for me, a small town boy, it was all so strange. I was already a tourist. This was another kind of tourism. In Europe I purposely remained oblivious of the history of things. I looked and felt things as if they had no history. Things were what they were as I felt and experienced them in the present. And so was San Francisco. I could make of it whatever I wanted.
So I would pick some leaves, roll them up in some paper, smoke and go out on the town. I made a plan of where I would go before I smoked.
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