Axel and I used to ride into work with Blair. Blair was the craziest motherfucker I have ever met. He was the brother of a pretty young gal my mom worked with and he worked in the sawmill, in a different department, with me.
Blair had a hot car and all the police in town knew him better than their own children. Axel and I started riding into the mill with him. We soon learned our job was to help him smoke thai stick pot to get in the proper frame of mind to work and to keep Blair awake. He partied every night until two or three hours before it was time to get up on his best days. Sometimes he did not sleep at all.
Blair was the one who told us, "All the fucking rednecks in this mill smoke pot too. And that ain't all they do."
Another time he told us how a foreman had found his department's secret dope smoking room. "But the chickenshit motherfucker never said a word to anyone because he figured we'd've killed him. He was right. Spark that motherfucker up Beer, it's Friday!"
I answered the phone in the apartment Axel and I shared when Blair's sister called to tell us he was dead. After I told Axel I rolled a big submarine joint and we smoked it real slow and we tried not to cry because we were fucking punks and punks don't cry. Blair was the first person we knew who died real young. He crashed his car. I still kind of miss the crazy bastard.
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