Confessions of a Journalist Turned Weed Smuggler

[justaprogressive]

IT’S A LITTLE after midnight on a cold winter night. I’m in someone else’s van, driving down a highway I’ve never seen before. I’m on my way to pick up a load of marijuana and transport it across state lines.

What could go wrong?

The trip was organized at the last minute. In situations like these, you don’t ask questions. But when a friend of a friend calls to ask if you can drive to Oklahoma for a quick drug deal, it’s hard to say no. The money is just too good.

The trip, however, is nerve-wracking. I don’t know the client, nor the person I’m meeting in Oklahoma. It’s 25 degrees outside. The van is old, and cold air rushes in through cracks in the window. I can’t seem to keep my phone charged because the cord is frayed. And where the hell is that heater control?

I’m making good time, though, considering that I’m supposed to make the connection around 3 a.m. At this rate, I should get in around 2 a.m. Once I’m there, I’m not exactly sure how it’s supposed to go down. I’m working solely on trust.

About an hour outside Oklahoma City, my client calls to check on my progress.

“Hey, you be real careful when you get down there,” my client says. “That’s the same place a guy got killed a couple months ago.”

https://economichardship.org/2023/09/confessions-of-a-journalist-turned-weed-smuggler/

good read