_Note: everyone mentioned herein is at least 18 years old!_
I met Sandra at an evening beach party in California. She was laying in a big towel on the sand, on the periphery of the crowd, listening to her walkman. We got to know each other when we shared a alarmingly large joint of what was called “the fine Colombian,” the likes of which which we did _not_ have in Massachusetts back then.
Turns out that we were the same age (25) and even though we grew up thousands of miles apart, both liked disco roller-skating, and anything to do with the ocean.
I liked her instantly because she was a genuine person. No bullshit, even before she got high. She wore a tank top over a bikini bra, cutoff shorts, and a pair of sandals. I think she was the only chick there without makeup. To be fair, she didn’t need it. Her light brown hair was tied up loosely, like she was just hanging out. Which she was.
We sat cross legged and talked, kind of ignoring the other people, as the stars appeared one by one. I wouldn’t say she steered the conversation toward sex—more like she rather abruptly said that weed made her horny and asked if the same was true of me.