When I was seventeen I worked for a while in a Shell garage for six months before they sacked me for incompetence and bad time keeping. In the daytime it was far too busy, I just couldn't keep up and people were forever driving away without paying for their petrol, and the night shifts were very dull indeed.
One time Howard dropped by in the middle of the night and persuaded me to let him roll a joint in the back room.
It was typical of my bad luck that just as soon as Howard had said goodbye a local policeman, who would come in from time to time for a chat, drove up and decided to take the opportunity to share all of the many problems of his marital life with me. He wanted to tell me everything. I was concerned about the possibility of him smelling smoke from the back room, or him noticing that I was stoned, it was unpleasant.
You know, I don't think that I ever enjoyed smoking that stuff once but I always seemed to have been doing it.
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