My Father the Drug Lord Link

I thought this Esquire story was compelling, not because of the extraordinary situations, but because of the painfully common and ordinary story of a father with a terrible job:

Anthony Edward Dokoupil was known for his on-the-job sanity. If he was working, he was happy and healthy, drug-free, focused, flowing, time bouncing off him. He had enough hair on his chest to float a gold chain, his belly was trim, and when he walked he swung his legs in loose semicircles, exuding a practiced magnetism, a put-on air of immortality. But this was the close of the 1984 pot season, the harshest of my father’s long career. It was October, and he was back in Miami, tired and disappointed, his body quiet, all his energies turned inward.