What it feels like... (extended edition.)

Esquire magazine used to have a feature called What it feels like... to do things that most people never will: Rassle an alligator. Drive a race car 200mph. Walk on the moon.


One of the best was "What it feels like to get high," separately, with Willie Nelson and Snoop Dogg.


Smoking marijuana with Willie on his tour bus, the writer said, was soothing, like being submerged in a warm, soothing bath.


One toke of Snoop's herb, he said, left him in a coma for three days.


Esquire didn’t ask me, but I could’ve told them what it feels like to almost get killed by a cop.


In nearly 40 years of driving, I’ve been pulled over by police easily more than 100 times, usually deservedly so. Three times they have pulled weapons on me.


On this particular bright Saturday morning 30 years ago while driving up Broadway in Gary, Ind., where I was a newspaper columnist, another car cut me off. I tooted my horn, inoffensively, I thought, but the driver took offense.

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