When I was young and foolish, I once bought a bag of pot from a punk dealer who decided I was a narc. Not sure how I got steered to this psycho. It was a black dude, who was built like Terrell Owens. Come to think of it, maybe it was Terrell Owens. After some brief introductions, he threw a knife at me for dramatic effect - boing!- throwing knife vibrating in door. "Are you a cop? You look like a cop." Did I mention that this guy was a kick boxer? These pleasantries occurred at a YMCA rooming house. I can't remember anything else, I was trembling with fear, and apparently somehow got out of there.
Maybe I did look like a cop.
I never bought pot again in my life. Well, maybe from a friend, but that incident severely curtailed my life of crime.
Maybe I did look like a cop.
I never bought pot again in my life. Well, maybe from a friend, but that incident severely curtailed my life of crime.

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