Summer 1983, before my Freshman year of high school, I'd met a group of guys much older than me. We had one common interest: arcade games. That's how we met really, at an arcade named, “The Flying Dutchman.”

Wes was the charismatic one out of the bunch, James, the troubled youth kicked out of his home, Jeff, the one with the job and car. And me, just a naive Asian boy accepted into a group of pot smoking, heavy metal banging, D&D role playing gang of beatniks.

Life was simple.

Smoke weed, play games, listen to Ronnie James Dio's, “Holy Diver” on the boom box.

Life was unpredictable.

On a sunny calm day, not unlike the many that came before it, I entered the apartment to witness a sight of shock and awe -- covering the entire living room floor, a space that stretched over twenty feet in length and twelve feet in width, was weed, liberated in the late night before from the backyard of a boasting idiot.

When the son of a pot grower brags about his dad's secret garden and gives his home address to a group of potheads, life became more predictable.

And what did my gang of misfits do with (at least) half a dozen large trash bags worth of weed?

They smoked it ... all of it.

Smoke Weed


Smoke Weed
Gesso and Medium on Canvas
57 x 84 inches
144.78 x 213.36 cm