My first encounter with smoking weed was sometime around my 18th birthday. Kurt, my friend who migrated about five years ago came back to Trinidad for a visit. One evening he told me that he had a joint but did not want to smoke it at home. We went for a walk in Lange Park pass the secondary school. He lit the joint and we both took turns smoking it. I would take a pull and quickly handed the joint back to him. When we were almost finished, I realized we were nervously walking at a very fast pace. “Why are we walking so fast,” he asked. “I don’t know,” was my reply. We had a good laugh at our awkwardness. I couldn’t figure what the big deal was with weed because I felt nothing from the experience. I explained this to Scrunty, Pippen, and Kenny a few weeks after Kurt had returned to the U.S. As we sat on the corner of Robinson and Marc street, talking about current events, the joint was passed around several times. In the midst of one of several debates, it suddenly occurred to me, I busted out Yoooo! Everyone looked at me with keen, attentiveness, thinking I had some profound piece of revelation to add to the discussion, but instead, I declared that “I’m high mannn.” They all cracked up laughing. “Yo, I feel real cool man, now I’m hungry like a mug.” They had some fun at my expense repeating my declaration. So I walked to the corner and bought a quarter pound of freshly roasted cashew nuts from Mr. Pierre and a cold Carib beer. They later explained that the munchies were a common side effect of smoking weed. I was very selective with whom I smoked afterwards. They were the guys who were protective for me and would warn me of any dangers. They had my back and treated me like a little brother. It wasn’t long before I was making the trek to the man on the block for my own purchases.