One time I was..:

..buying weed in India.

_Pixabay

I mean hash. It was so good, fruity, divine and - hand-made. The silver shimmerig Charras was so clear that I could almost see myself in it while hanging out 2000 meters high in the Himalaya. The man who wanted to sell it to me was an old hippie who made some money buy selling it. He wanted 2000 Rupees but I knew the prices at that time already and he was too desperate. I didn't buy it. Dang, now I told you that I bought weed or hash and I didn't? Wait. I did.

It was a sunny day and I went to buy a t-shirt. It was red with Ganesh on it and I told the salesman that I would only buy it in case it would be wash-proof meaning no fucking color would leak out of that thing. Later while washing the water in the sink was blood red, fucker. The hash I bought from him was excellent. But there was something fishy I only found out later about it.

The hash was divided into 10 balls, I forgot the price. Likely I paid too much, he was a sales-genius but anyway, 2 or 3 of the balls where not hash and cut at least with 50 percent plastic or something! Of course I never returned and my shirt was stolen from the dry-line a month later. That was not the only two times I bought hash so be ready for some more stories about it.

God how I love and hate India.