Alright, here's Part 1 of...

PARANOIA AND DEBAUCHERY IN DAVIS



It was Friday, around 4:30. On a normal day I would just be settling down in my favorite green chair to watch the slime that comes out of my television and smoke joints. But as it were, on this particular Friday, I was in the middle of a forest, holding a compass and praying to God that the grass wasn't made of razor wire.

I have a well-known reputation in this area as an uberdruggie - the kind of person you go to when you don't give a shit about what your life will be in ten years. My personal favorite substance to abuse was LSD, but that's not all. I was and still am a frequent user of mushrooms, ecstacy, marijuana, mescaline, LSA, various pharms, the occasional line of coke. We had all this and much more in the wooden suitcase I was clutching to my chest as if it contained my life.

I glanced over at my companion. He was in the fetal position, and was laughing so hard he couldn't breathe. I didn't understand what the hell was so funny - we were surrounded by fucking razor wire, for Christ's sake! - but he kept on laughing. "Jesus, man, it's not funny!" I tried to say; all that came out was a retarded murmur. I tried again, with more force behind the words, and the phrase came out with such surprising force that I was afraid it had reached Russia. He abruptly stopped laughing and looked at me.

"Huh?"

I paused, staring into his eyes. Bloodshot, dilated pupils, the classic eyes of a drug addict. "Nothing." The word echoed strangely in the clearing, making me confused. Had I said it, or was some unknown element here, watching us?

It didn't matter. Erik (my companion) rose to his feet, dusted himself off, and snatched the compass out of my hand. He stared hard at it for a moment, and then spun around and started walking quickly south. I followed.

We walked south for several hours, enjoying the drug-induced limbo of reality we were in. Immediately after school, we had taken a hit of acid, 10 HBW seeds, and 2 grams of psilocybe mushrooms each. That was just to get us started on the long walk, as we had no car. It all had kicked in by 4:00, and by that time we were waist-deep in tall fluffy grass that, later on in the trip, would frequently remind me of Bea Arthur's harido.

After walking for about three hours, we noticed it was dinnertime. We had scince learned to control the substances and act relatively normal. We were a third of the way to our destination, still in the middle of forests, orchards and back roads, nowhere near a town of any sense. Erik dropped his backpack and started to dig around for food. He produced two sandwiches that he had made that morning, and two A&E root beers. Ah, delicious. We were both starving, having not eaten scince noon. We devoured the meal in minutes, only to return to our mindless walking.

Three hours later and it's pitch black. The acid is wearing off, and the mushrooms are long gone. The fading trails of the toxic cocktail that had been our only entertainment for the past six hours are barely enough the keep me from giving up this crazy journey. My jouralism teacher had given me this assignment, and I was determined to complete it, or I would risk an F. That could not happen.

A sudden shriek and my thoughts are torn away angrily like an unwanted flyer left in a windshield wiper. I spin and point the Maglite at Erik. He has a maddened look in his eye, like he's just seen a ghost.

"What the hell is your problem, man? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

He looks at me, his body rigid. "Sorry, I just stepped on a snail. Give me some mescaline and a line of coke, I need a pick-me-up." Jesus, some pick-me-up.

I stop, open the case, and pull out the saltshaker and a small flask of Peruvian Torch tea. He downs the whole thing, about 12" worth, in a few thirsty gulps. He bends over, and blows a line of powder up his nose, and immediately recoils as the stuff hits him. I follow suit and roll back into the grass as soon as the candy is packed deep in my sinuses.

As soon as the initial head rush from the coke is over, I sit up and dig out a blotter of yellow sunshine acid. I drop it in my mouth and look around for Erik. He's standing about ten feet away smoking a joint.

"Come on, let's go. We've still got a few miles; let's use this coke rush to get us there fast."

"Fine, fine. I'm up for it."

"Good. We'll crash in a park I know of when we get there... we'll need energy for the festival tomorrow."


TO BE CONTINUED!!!!!