Selling my soul would be a lot easier if I could just find it. (Nikki Sixx)

We had the know-how, we had the supplies, and within a week Tommy had moved into my bachelor apartment because the operation was dominating his apartment. He stopped paying rent.

When we had our first good batch I decided we should have a party. While I was sitting in class I pulled out my pencil case and as my teacher droned on about the Vietnam war and the politics of it all I shaded my posters with rainbows of color. I would slide one under every door in the building. The date, location, and in bold capital letters: FREE DRINKS were spiced up by the diagonal stripes I was making with my pencil crayons. It was really quite relaxing. I wondered if I had colored much during my childhood. I couldn’t remember it, so probably not. I was too busy reading things way above my reading level to color.

“Hey,” whispered the girl sitting next to me.

I looked over. She was heying me. I wondered if I had just been asked a question or something. She nodded toward the poster.

“Whose is it?”

“Mine.”

“Can I come?”

Hmm, high school students, I considered. That was definitely a felony. I almost laughed to myself. With all the criminal activity in my life why was I concerned? Hell, I was one of them. I forgot I was still sixteen.

“Yeah,” I shrugged.

“Can I bring friends?”

The poster specifically said “Bring your friends” but too many high school kids couldn’t be good. Free drinks for under-agers; that was questionable.

“We can pay extra cover because we’re underage,” she offered. This chick was reading my mind. I didn’t know if I wanted to mess with a mind reader.

“One hundred dollars?” I challenged.

“Awesome,” she nodded. So I gave her one of the posters and segmented my market: the desperate young tenants of the apartment and rich high school kids. The business plan was forming as I went.