I found a BAG of blow on the street

“There are two types of men in the world. Men that take drugs and men that don’t. Which one are you Bubba?” “Not me” I say as I put it back in my pocket. I found a bag of cocaine floating on a puddle in the street last night. I was three beer deep and crossing the road (after waiting for a 10 car convoy to pass by) when I saw it. I said “What’s this? A bag of fucking coke?” (No one was in earshot). I picked it up and opened it to verify. I was right. I was right for once. Now what. It was, like, a whole fucking bag, and I had no idea how much coke that was. I mean, I’ve seen blow. I’m an old man Bubba. I know what I’m doing. I mean, I know what I’ve done. Back in the day. You know. But I’ve never had my own bag to myself. I tried blow twice. Both times it was a line. The first time I loved it. I was with a friend who loved blow more than I loved it. He gave me a line and I was like “Not bad. Yeah this is cool.” So then I was at another party and I had another line. I forgot about the first time. Bubba’s a bit of a self-defense mechanism. And I was like “The first time I tried this I loved it. Why did I never repeat this experience?” And I did. I repeat it. And it was a fun night. But it was 15 years ago. I was young. I was reckless. I’m no longer young. I’m no longer reckless. I still like to smoke weed, but Bubba’s also a bit of a self-defense mechanism. I smoke Bubba because he’s Bubba. Bubba’s not a problem. Bubba doesn’t get me high. Bubba is just Bubba. Bubba is a bit of a self-defense mechanism. So I have a bag. What is this worth? I ask an old friend. He’s still a blow man. “Do you want it?” I ask. “No. I don’t do that anymore.” “How much is it worth?” “I don’t know Bubba. I don’t do that shit anymore. I’m a recovering addict. I can’t be around that shit.” “But how much is it worth?” “Around here? It’s an 8 ball.” “An 8 ball,” I say. “Yeah, that costs 50 bucks around here.” “50?” I ask. “Yeah.” I don’t know how much I have. It’s a full bag, but I don’t know what an 8 ball looks like. I know what a gram looks like. I have a full bag of coke. It’s full to the top. I don’t know what it’s worth. Back in Bubba’s day, an 8 was 200 bucks. I think an 8 ball is 3 grams. So that makes my bag 10 grand. Full bag. Full Bubba bag. Bubba bag blow. Blow Bubba. Bubba’s blow bag. Weight. What weight is this? How much does it weigh? I have no idea. I’m not going to weigh it. I don’t have a scale. I’m no drug dealer. I’m just Bubba on blow. I’m just Bubba with a bag of blow. I’m Bubba. I’m Bubba on blow. “He’s lost again.” “I know.” I’m an old man. I’m not stupid. I know what I’m doing. I know what I have. I’m no blow man. I’m a weed Bubba. I’m a Bubba. I’m not a blow Bubba. I’m not a blow man. I’m not a blow man Bubba. I’m not a man. I’m a Bubba. But I have a bag. A big bag. A big bag of blow. I don’t know how much I have Bubba. I don’t know what I have Bubba. But I have it. And I don’t Bubba. I don’t want it. It’s too much Bubba. Too much Bubba for Bubba. Too much Bubba for Bubba to handle. I can’t smoke this much blow Bubba. I’m an old Bubba. I’m a weed Bubba. I’m a Bubba Bubba. So I text some friends. Old friends. Friends who won’t take me home. Friends who won’t let me drink. Friends who won’t stay Bubba. I text them. I text them all. I ask around. I don’t know what I have Bubba. I don’t know how much I have Bubba. I don’t know what it’s worth Bubba. I don’t know what to do Bubba Bubba Bubba. I don’t know what to do Bubba. I text Bubba. Bubba texts back. Bubba is a bit of Bubba’s self-defense mechanism. “What,” Bubba says. “What,” I say. “What,” Bubba says. “I found a bag of blow.” “Oh,” Bubba says. “How much.” “I don’t know Bubba. It’s full.” “There’s 8 balls Bubba,” Bubba says. “There’s quarter grams and half grams. There’s grams. There’s kilos. What’s that bag Bubba?” “I don’t know Bubba. I don’t know. It’s full Bubba. It’s heavy Bubba. It’s real Bubba.” “CCOIN,” Bubba says. “What Bubba?” I say. “CCOIN.” “What Bubba?” I say louder. “CCOIN.” “I don’t understand Bubba,” I say. “What is CCOIN?” “There’s 8 balls Bubba,” Bubba says. “There’s quarter grams and half grams. There’s grams. There’s kilos. There’s OZs Bubba. There’s ONCES. ONCE is short for ONZA. ONZA is Spanish for 1/16th (1 sixteenth) of a kilogram. ONZA is 28 grams. An ONCE is $2300 Bubba. ONCE is CCOIN Bubba. You don’t have CCOIN Bubba.” “There’s 8 balls Bubba,” I say. “There’s quarter grams and half grams. There’s grams. There’s kilos. You’re right Bubba. You’re right.” “Just bring it to me Bubba.” “Okay Bubba. Okay.” I put the blow in my pocket. Bubba’s blow bag. Bubba’s blow Bubba bag Bubba. Bubba’s got an Bubba bag Bubba. Bubba’s got a bag. Full bag. Full Bubba bag. Bubba’s full bag Bubba. Bubba’s bag. Yeah.

I found a BAG of blow on the street

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