Sam’s place was a carbon copy of Jeff’s place upstairs only he had knocked down all of the walls to create his grow house. He had electricity and water for free but used them only for growing. This meant no T.V., no internet, and not much for appliances, just a hot plate. I would be responsible for watering and feeding his plants which looked like trees. He had plants that had been growing for years to use for cloning and the trunks were the biggest I had ever seen. The kitchen had been converted into a room to make hash in and the back porch to make hash oil. It was a nice little set-up and I admired Sam’s courage and tenacity in trying to get the laws changed, even if it was delusional. He had this idea that by his in your face tactics that they were eventually capitulate to his reasoning and allow him to be the first ever manufacture, distribute and consume establishment in the Netherlands. While I found the idea to be a very good one, knowing the nature of government they would never go for it, it made too much sense. Even by the smallest miracle they would allow it, they would never let a troublemaking American ex-pat be the first one to get permission. I felt it was only a matter of time before they got rid of him for good, I just hoped it was not with me there.
The week sailed by with no problems and I had the place cleaned up and ready for Sam to return. I had worked out a deal with T-Bone to rent one of his rooms and was packed and ready to go. The day came and went with no sign of Sam, I figured he must be returning the next morning. The next day came and went again with no sing of Sam, I tried calling his phone but only got his voicemail. I started to wonder what might have happened, had he been busted for something? He was in his 60’s so maybe he had a breakdown in his health? A week went by and still no word, I now started to envision that he would never be coming back and that the apartment and all that was in it would now be mine. I also had visions of the cops coming and raiding the place with me in it, there would be no talking my way out of that and it would certainly mean the end of my journey. it had been nearly 2 weeks with no word from Sam when one night I was reading in the front area and was shocked to hear someone try to open the door, my first thought was Sam but when the next thing I hear is a boot kicking the door, I froze in panic. It sounded like my worst fear about to come true as one kick after another came and I knew it was only a moment before they came bursting through the door. One last kick and the door flew open, my anxiety crossed the redline and went straight to numb, this was it. When I see Sam walk through I let out the biggest sigh I had ever known, he had left his keys and phone in Germany and thought that I had already moved out. After my heart stopped racing we had a good laugh about it and sat down for a well needed session where he told me all about his trip and why he was 2 weeks late. Of course it was a woman, he had gone over to visit a friend and come back in love with her, a happy little romantic story.
I told Sam that I would pack up and move back over to T-Bone’s in the morning when he tells me that I could stay at his place for free if I wanted. Considering that I would have to pay to stay with the old drunk, it was not much of a decision but I would have the constant threat of being raided. I also thought it would be a good opportunity to learn some of the tricks of the trade from an old hand like Sam. As the place had no walls, there would be very little privacy. Sam had a spare bed that we moved to the front of the apartment and he had area in the back. Things started out smoothly enough with Sam and I spending long days smoking and discussing life, death , and everything in between, however most of our chats would center around our favorite plant. He taught me how to make clones, hash, and hash oil, skills I hoped to one day put into practice in a sane world. His insights into the cannabis plant were very educational and I will always be grateful to Sam for allowing me to learn some of them.
Life had returned to a hassle free bliss with both jobs going well and the money was starting to pile up again with no rent to pay. I was still running the tourneys at the Nes and winning a majority of them. It was very different to my experience back in Washington when I ran and won most of the tourneys at Draft Pic’s. Within a few months the people stopped playing and the tournament died, but at the Nes it seemed to motivate people as I was having to turn folks away on a regular basis because we were already full. I can’t explain why the difference only that I loved the spirit of the players in Amsterdam and so did my wallet. I was starting to miss the good weed that I used to get from Frans for my storage duties. The Nes had some of the best weed in town as Frans had some very good suppliers. The weed from my grow was just about finished and I was looking at the prospect of having to pay full price at the coffee shop again. While expressing this fear one day at work with my boss Duke, he tells me that his room-mate is part of a group that smuggles several kilos to Russia every month and that he could get one at wholesale for us to smoke. Without hesitation I told him to go for it and within a few days he had a kilo of very kind and it only cost 2 euros a gram. We took out the biggest bud and rolled a joint that Bob Marley would have been proud of! Life was once again treating me with all the joy I could imagine.
During the last few months of the year the government started a public relations campaign to inform people of the new mandatory I.D. law that would be starting on January 1st. Everyone would have to carry an official I.D. with them at all times with no exceptions. This was definitely bad news for me as I had not had a valid I.D. in over 8 years and no reason to worry about it, but that was all about to change. I felt outrage that the Dutch people would let this happen. I remember being told when I was a child that the scenes of Nazi soldiers checking people’s papers were a sure sign of tyranny and something that would never happen in a free country. I wondered if they had forgotten their history so easily and feared for what might come next. I had lived in the comfort of knowing that if I didn’t do anything wrong, then I would not have to worry about being harassed by the police but now I could be exposed for not being able to produce a slave badge. “YOUR PAPERS PLEASE”! I thought that one way to maybe give me a chance if I were to be stopped would be to not have a wallet on me, it would be hard to explain why I had a wallet and no type of I.D. in it. Far better I reasoned to not have one and say I had forgotten it. It might not work but it was the only thing I could think of and come the first of the year I tossed out my wallet and would never have one again.
A Continuing Story About Life On The Run