Thursday, December 2, 2021

My Palestinian hashish connection

Back in the day, my pal Abbie was a reliable source of Bekaa blonde. Abbie, short for Abdul, was a Palestinian from the West Bank.

Abbie had a dream, and it wasn't a dream about a Palestinian homeland.

He was of a more practical bent.

Abbie's dream was to have a variety store of his own. 

This was back before the big chains took over the variety store space. There was a time when an enterprising family could open a snack-bar/variety store in their front room. You had one of those every few blocks in every neighbourhood. If you ran a successful operation, responding to the needs of the community, you'd make a decent living. Plus, the real estate you were paying off would be your retirement nest-egg.

Circumstances intervened, and I didn't see Abbie for a few years. I'd been out and about making my mark in the world. Or not, but eventually I came back to the home town. One day I randomly walk into one those old-school variety stores for a pack of smokes, and there's Abbie!

Sure enough, he owned the business and he owned the real estate!

Fate had smiled on Abbie in the most unlikely way. 

Fate had cause a grape to fall from the produce shelf at Zehrs.

Fate then led Abbie into that Zehrs, where he slipped on that grape, sprained his neck, and got a concussion.

The only down side was he had to wear a neck-brace, at least in public, till the court case came up.

Long story short, Zehrs bought him a nice variety store, on a corner lot, with more than adequate living quarters, and Abbie and his extended family lived happily ever after!


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