The Rabbit Hole

By Christopher Proffitt

A writer on a budget, often shoestring light, I’ve worked from one coast to the other often learning to experience for myself what I would write about or, failing that, put myself within close enough proximity to those experiences or in the company of those that have been there and done that.

Passing through Ohio once again led to a chance invitation to a meeting with local marijuana-growing legend Stony Greenfield during a party at his place. Not a partaker, more a drinker, the cloud in the room nearly knocked me giddy if that says enough about his Green Thumb. It soon became apparent that between his personality and tales of his adventures there were stories that needed to be shared. Surprisingly, he managed to keep a loose, poorly written, badly-spelled record in wire-bound notebooks that he let me borrow long enough to edit and rewrite in a misadventure that reads like something like a tale of Nation Lampoon meets High Times meets Cops for those that may enjoy them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christopher Proffitt
• Release date: Mar 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301509164

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Copyright

Published by Christopher L. Proffitt at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 by Christopher L. Proffitt

Title: The Rabbit Hole

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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The Rabbit Hole

Checking In

The man in uniform that checked us into our new room spoke no English and we didn’t speak much Spanish, but there were no misunderstandings between us. We emptied our pockets. They took our knives and mace, but to my surprise gave us all of our money back. The door shut behind us and I took a look around our new home.

Four walls of old rock, a stone floor worn smooth from so many previous guests, with a two-feet wide by one-foot high window around eye level. Outside the cell door was a hallway with other cells down to the double doors closed to the free roaming area there. No roof covered the hallway, letting rainfall down to the floor just outside our cell door. In our room, there was no toilet, no sink or fountain, not even a bed to sleep on.

Our Mexican adventure came, literally, to a screeching halt landing us in the Jerez Prison.

The moment the cell door closed behind us, I reacted the only way that I could. I turned around and punched Dean in the face. The next thing I knew, we were rolling around on the floor fighting it out. While still fighting, we heard voices talking to us in Spanish from the cell across the hall.

The light in the hall showed that there were other prisoners in that cell but we could hear them better than we could see them.

Now, you got to keep in mind, we were both really fucked up. I don’t remember exactly how this went but I do remember Dean yelling back at the guys in the other cell, flipping them off, and yelling things like they can come suck his dick. Talking shit like you might be able to get away with back home but we weren’t in our world here and Dean wasn’t getting that.

I was, though. The mood in the cell across the hall changed noticeably. They began to stare and speak amongst each other. Seeing that, it pissed me off some more at him. I said, Shut the fuck up, stupid mutherfucker. They might not speak the same language, but everyone knows getting flipped off and ‘suck my dick’.

The one that seemed to take the most offense in that cell was a big man with forearms the size of my thighs. A big sonuvabitch who stopped saying anything at all but just stared. That he had nothing to say but that kind of stare was scarier than anything else that he could’ve done.

Finally, tired and finished with fighting, we separated and I took to my corner where I held my Levi jacket up over my head to try to stay warm. Even in Mexico, it gets cold in winter and while we might have rolled around on that floor fighting, I knew that other prisoners pissed and shit on that floor. Wasn’t any chance in Hell I’d be sleeping on it.

I leaned against the wall hoping for sleep. I couldn’t help but think about how we got there. Funny thing about it all, this was supposed to be my vacation away before I might end up doing hard time in Dry County, Ohio.

Little Red Shove-It

From Columbus, Ohio I spent my teenage years in a small town in Dry County, Ohio, much different than the streets of the city. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I had a mad green thumb and the most pleasurable past time growing up proved to be a most lucrative business and that was growing Marijuana.

That’s just what I ended up doing in my new hometown, Desolation.

The big thing to do for young people in high school was to go to the town of County Line to score some beer, the more the better, or even better some whiskey, hop a back road and see where the trail led to: Sometimes to girls, parties, and sometimes to the county jail.

I had my share of different vehicles throughout my years: Cars, trucks, motorcycles, and three-and-four wheelers. My favorite was an old red Chevette that I scored from Dean for $50. How I came across this steal was because he lent it to Rodney who promptly wrecked it and broke the tie-rod end.

Fuck it. Dean said. Give me $50 for this piece of shit and it’s yours.

I flipped him a Jackson and the Age of the Red Shove-It began.

We called it the Shove-It because the starter took a shit and we had to give it a running push to start it every time. We could’ve fixed it, sure, but that required us to unbolt a motor mount and jack it up to change it out, but it was a whole helluva lot easier to just push it and go. I might’ve been able to change it out, but I had places to be and beers to kill and the Shove-It to get us there. It wasn’t long before we discovered the hidden powers of the little car. We quickly learned that the Shove-It could go places that other cars had no business trying to go. Before long, we were driving down 4-wheeler trails, logging roads, and even other roads where the odds were against us making it to the end, let alone back.

So, we tried it just to prove that it can be done, strapping in, we revved it up and shot into the trails with abandon.

The Shove-It had a positrack rear end with studded snow tires and air shocks pumped to the sky for ground clearance. I’ve pulled around 4-wheel drive trucks stuck in the mud not because they couldn’t have made it down the trail but because I just approached the mud holes differently. The big vehicles approached the holes all wrong. They’d hit all the bumps, debris, and logs across the trail that would slow them trying to take it easy on the suspension which bogged them down when they hit the mud.

For the Shove-It, the