Guest-blogging from a facebook homie (beachboy_72): Frisco Freestyle

I once knew this ecstasy dealer who was so paranoid that he constructed a ruse just in case the feds were listening. He really wasn't dealing drugs, he would have them believe, he was operating a BMX store called "Frisco Freestyle." Whenever you'd call he'd answer the phone by saying "Frisco Freestyle?" His voicemail also said something like "You've reached Frisco Freestyle, San Francisco's premier BMX shop. If you've reached this message, we're probably out jumping ramps somewhere, so leave us a message!" Whenever you'd get him on the line, he'd tell you what he had. This was in code, too--he'd usually have "Reggae tapes" (weed) and "CDs" (ecstasy) which he'd describe as "very loud." I never understood why he shifted gears here--why is Frisco Freestyle selling music now? Weed should've been called helmets or shin pads, while ecstasy should've been called "Diamond Backs" or "Mongooses," to use some popular BMX brands from my childhood.

He was a strange but cool dude. The only way I can describe him is as a gay Back to the the Future-era Christopher Lloyd. We had a heart-to-heart once. More like heart-to-half-heart. I really didn't give a shit about this guy at the time. I just wanted my drugs. But I feigned interest while he told me about his past. He was once married with a daughter he loved dearly. He got divorced and lost all custodial rights. I wish I'd been more sympathetic to him. Now that I have a daughter I can hardly fathom his situation. Makes me wanna cry just thinking about it. So here's to you, Frisco Freestyle (I won't use your real name)! I hope you were reunited with your daughter!