The furthest I can recall, is exiting a large factory with a friend of mine (let's call him Moegli). The entire factory was very modern, sort of futuristic, everything pristine, everything blinding white; the lobby in which we were exiting seemed very corporate bank to me. Moegli and I were attempting to make it out the doors in a car of sorts (an car indoors), and either one of us would walk on the side of the car while the other rode, despite us both needing to be inside, as no pedestrians were allowed on this factory floor.
I recall being in conversation with a middle aged fellow, regarding the situation at hand, discovering this was a Marijuana factory for the government, and how Moegli and I really should not be inside, lest the security robots get to us. And then the cameras spotted Moegli, pedestrianized on the lobby floor. And they did pursue us out the door.
Dialogue to our getaway vehicle between Moegli and I regarded the product within the factory walls. It was not pure leaf. Not toxic, but certainly not pure. Spliffed and rolled with other herbs, and perhaps even a few synthetic fillers. But what more could one expect? We drove off, a security guard eying us with suspicion.
We drove suburban streets on the way to my home, getting stuck behind too slow cars, having near collisions with domesticated pets, wary of the sky that seemed to grow heavier and greyer by the moment. It was summer, it was hot, yet there were folks dressed up as if it were the dead of winter, as they too were fearful of an upcoming sky burst. Almost at my home, I pitied them.
Subsequent events are blurry, and my most vivid recollections involve Moegli and I in the backseat of an Oldsmobile, accompanied by what I believe to be his grandparents as driver and passenger. It must have been around 10 in the evening, the weather conditions still less than desirable; fog coated reality like a rainforest mist. Driving down a winding road, something similar to a highway branch through swampland, we pulled over next to some yellow, dead grass. The folks exited the vehicle and told us to follow them, playing the music of their day loudly on portable speakers, smoking a joint, and began to walk toward a vineyard. "This is the best time to go" they spoke "There's no need to pay for my grapes."
And Moegli and I realized what was going on. That it was wrong, that we could get caught. And we left.
We returned back to his family's home, a home away from home, I assume, as neither of us felt very at home there. It was full of other family members, to the brim, and the downstairs bathroom was shared with the upstairs bathroom. I was not allowed to dress a certain way, I was not allowed to speak a certain way, lest it offend the family. And I was scared. He acted like it was all normal. Perhaps he pitied me; or perhaps he disliked my presence.
Though to be honest, my presence was indeed wanted. I simply did not enjoy his company.