Buying a case of beer always seemed to be a problem. Leading the sheltered life of a 16-year-old from the San Fernando Valley, I hadn’t yet heard of heroin, uppers, downers, roofies, opium, cocaine, ecstasy, LSD, steroids, crack cocaine, PCP or even pot. I wasn’t even interested in vodka, whiskey or tequila. All I wanted was a case of beer. The way I usually found it started with putting the word out to all my friends to check with their connections. A couple of days later, I’d discover an anonymous note in the bottom of my school locker from the dealer. I spent the next three hours following directions that…
