drug addled
When I was a kid I always walked at the back of the line in school. It wasn’t like some sort of plan I had, but I was always just going slower than other people. There was one particular day that this turned out to be a bad idea. I was probably two and a half feet tall I guess. I actually don’t know how tall a six year old is, but just try to envision a little towheaded kid humming to himself about twenty feet back from the rest of his class. It was 1987. The guy that wrote the screenplay for ‘Traffic’ was either a junior or a senior in my school, speedballing his way through his last years there. I was oblivious to the problems of 1987 until a jean jacketed guy picked me up and slammed me against a locker. “What we gonna do with him?” said the guy who I can only surmise was the screenwriter for ‘Traffic’. The guy behind the screenwriter waffles. He doesn’t look like he wants to kill a six year old and leave his body to rot in the woods today. “I think we should just let him go,” said the good looking kid who was turning his head frantically to look down both directions of the hallway. A sort of uncomfortable pause ensued here. “Yeah … yeah. We’ll just—let him go.” The future screenwriter says all this with a glassy look in his eyes. He lets me down and says “Get back to your class kid.” Which I do without really contemplating the danger I was in. I didn’t really contemplate the danger until I watched ‘Traffic’ 14 years later and found out that the events didn’t actually occur in Cincinnati like the movie made it out to be. It was all in Louisville, at the school I went to where one building houses grades K-12. It was there that the future screenwriter of ‘Traffic‘ had a drug addled moment contemplating the homicide of the future writer of Ralph the Cat.
