The Kings Of Cool

81

Doc pulls a rabbit out of a hat.

Except it ain’t no rabbit and it ain’t no hat-Doc pulls a glassine envelope out of John’s surfboard.

Magic.

John just got home from a surfing trip with Doc to Mexico.

It wasn’t Third Reef Pipeline or anything like that, but it was fine and they had a couple of girls with them and everyone had a good time. Except now they’re unloading their gear in John’s driveway in Dodge City and Doc takes one of John’s boards and busts it open and John is like, what the hey?

“It’s the future,” Doc answers.

John is pissed-for one thing, it’s one of his favorite boards. Two, he’s twenty-four now and eligible for adult felony time. If Doc wants to take crazy chances, why doesn’t he do it with his own board?

Except Doc is like a god to him.

And now God speaks.

“You think there’s money in grass?” Doc says. “Grass is Junior Achievement. Coke is Wall Street. The hippie thing is over-peace, love, stick it up your ass. Jimi-dead. Janis-dead. It’s Sympathy for the Devil now.”

The future is in money and the money is in coke. Stockbrokers do coke-movie producers, music executives, doctors, lawyers, Indian chiefs-they do coke, not grass.

Grass is a house in Dodge City-coke is a place on the beach.

Grass is a new van-coke is a leased Porsche.

Grass is hippie chicks and patchouli oil-coke is models and Chanel.

John gets it.

John goes with it.

It’s 1976, it’s the BuyCentennial.