I’ve looked around for a “storytime” thread here & can’t find the appropriate one…
So here we go, I hope to hear from you OG. 
So I used to work as a mechanic at this place that was supposedly tied to the Cambodian mob. One of the freaks tied to the Family was a white guy with 9 fingers. Alternator belt. This cat was one of those people you may have met in life that is beyond genius smart, highly educated, but had other problems of some sort. In the 70s when he was a kid he and his brother were canoeing to their guerilla grow site with pounds of seed & had a mishap, sending all that seed down the river. George Washington’s Mt. Vernon hemp crop was re-started and apparently enough germinated & grew that it made the local newspapers.
He studied chemistry at Standford & knew to how to “cook anything”. He married #1 Mama-San from Pnomh Penh & could speak some Cambodian. When Little Brother had to call him Older Brother they weren’t happy about it(b/c he was white). They had him repair 
a ton of MDMA 
that went bad…keeping him at a hotel next-door to the pnom penh police. (gotta have security, right?) 
after he fixed their bunk ecstasy he had to test it, right? being an older dude he’s done just about everything and then some but never E. So he ODs himself 
& said it was like an Acid trip but way more intense & speedy. The next day he’s still trippin & calls Little Brother. He makes it to the hotel bar & finds the Little Brothers who then empty the whole place except for their cop friends. It took him a couple days to shake it off.
Before I left that job he asked if I wanted to fishing for Stripers(Bass) so I followed him from the shop one Sunday morning. I’ll never forget that trip. 
He lived in a boat in a derelict harbor that I’d never been to and our destination was between the Chevron 
refinery and the Municipal 
Dump. Mmmm.
After passing 19th century cannons, abandoned 
structures from the past 3 centuries, we leave pavement onto a broken dirt road with lots of ruts. He slams the gas ahead of me in his PoS minivan, doing about 75mph like a Rally pro, and try as I might in my 16v VW GTI, breaking suspension strut bearings, my balls, etc. I could barely keep up. I didn’t want to lose OR get lost. 
His “boat” was some 1950s thing that wasn’t pond-worthy but apparently hadn’t sunk yet. I’ve seen homeless people with nicer places, no kidding. His old place was a loft above the auto-shop.
The “marina” was the aquatic version of a particularly bad trailer park(UK:static caravan). Evidently it was new some decades before my birth but was a poster child for Decay. We were to meet his fishing buddy with the boat, a dingy with a 150hp outboard (!), and he had his morning can of Budweiser while I watched & enjoyed smoking cigarrettes indoors(illegal in CA since I was a kid, got to do this in Nashville & Miami, though!).
“Captain John” showed up & we hit the SF Bay, all 3 shipmate high on different shit. The reason he was late was because that morning Crack & Meth load took a few minutes extra to choke down. We didn’t go more than a mile, hit a spot where the tide flowed back & forth from a narrow inlet, and the 'Cap sticks out an offering hand with a bottle of 
HotDamn!-cinnamon-fireball-liquor(it’s about 10am) to which we both decline. I hadn’t seen that shit since high-school a decade before & thought it was for young girls.
I caught a nice 20" fish in less than 5 minutes… all the while noticing workers at the dump/landfill watching us…wondering…‘who the fuck eats glowing PCB fish?’…Capt. John got a call to go remove a stalled vehicle from the Richmond-SanRafael bridge, as he was a tow truck operator for the State 
, so we had to cut that trip short & headed back.
Don’t put 150hp on a dingy. 
Yes, I ate that fish. 
It’s why my memory of that day is so clear!
