I was walking the dog down Camp when a guy approached us. He had the gel in his hair and somewhat baggy gangsta-ish clothes and a couple of pierced ears. He was smoking a big fat blunt.

"Hey dude," he said, "that's a killer tattoo."

"Thanks."

We talked tattoos for a while. The whole times he's smokin'.

I told him where I got the tattoo and how much it cost. He seemed satisfied with the information.

And then he held the blunt out to me.

"Wanna hit, man?"

"Nah. Thank ya, though."

This is something my mom never told me about: what to do when people on the street offer to share their drugs. Not sell, not give. Share.