Zombiefied Drug Trade

We had lunch with an old friend last week. We hadn’t seen him since our school days in the ’60s. He told us the following story.

“It’s amazing. I’ve lived there all my life. But I’m a little different, I guess. My brothers are doctors and lawyers. I did them a favor by being the black sheep of the family. So they didn’t have to be.

“I live in a rich neighborhood. But I don’t work much. I can’t work at all now, since I had my motorcycle accident. And I guess people wonder how I could live in such a place. Well, the answer is simple. My father was an eye surgeon and he bought it in 1941 and gave it to his children when he died.

“Well, somehow, the idea got out that we were drug dealers. The police started keeping an eye on us. There was an old van parked on the property. They figured it was for transporting drugs. And then, I had a couple of Mexicans helping me on the farm. They figured those guys must be drug runners. I don’t know how it all happened, because I’ve been there for more than 60 years…and anyone could have asked me what was going on.

More