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  Scrawny and slow. Even though he insists he is fast.

  He could never take me on in anything.

  I am the best at everything I do, and if I'm not,

  then I practice 'till I am or 'till it kills me.

  I've been drinking since I was 16, and he never knew.

  He was straight-edge or something. Whatever.

  I'd sneak beers from my dad. Natural Light.

  My mom tries to kill herself by taking too many sleeping pills

  then drinking a shit ton on top of it. My dad hates her.

  My dad hates everyone. Especially james.

  He thinks he's a bad influence on me, which is funny.

  I guess I'm just confused at how I got here with HIM.

  He is the smart type. I am smarter, but he is

  the nerd type... Yet, he is handling

  the drugs better than I am.

  Damn him.

  I must

  be better

  than him...

  Even if it

  kills

  me.

  Chapter 3

  Don't Talk to

  Creatures that Grow

  From Grassy Hills

  The following evening, I found myself sitting around the table at Gary's apartment. There was a plastic Ziploc bag sitting on the table. Within the baggy were fifteen hits of potent gel-tab acid. Jesus, it's about time I had a decent drug to experience. I was drooling over the acid, waiting for Daniel to call needing to be picked up when his shift ended at the Taco Hell. I had an impulse to run off with the bag and gobble up its contents – it wasn't so much an impulse, but rather a thought, a split-second day dream in which I've done something rash and completely opposite of the social norm. Everyone else looked as though they were having flashes of something similar, I became suspicious of them. Who would give in to their ids first? Gary? Beth? Probably Zach.

  We lost patience and decided to go ahead and drive over to the Taco Hell prematurely. So, I wasn't the only overly eager acid freak in the room, and I was relieved about this.

  We all piled into Zach's car, and I drove it over to Taco Hell where Daniel was to be picked up. Upon arriving, we noticed next to us what seemed to be a car full of half-breeds. There were two women shifting their great masses out of a vehicle. Rolls upon rolls of fat formed by excessive quantities of cream filled Twinkies and frosted Zebra Cakes. They were drooling over the thought of a greasy meal of beans with a consistency of runny shit and regurgitated dog food passing for meat from the Taco Hell. They were accompanied by a lumbering beast of a man who appeared as retarded as the women whom he was most likely inseminating. He looked like a inbred sonofabitch from the depths aye West Virginee.

  “Beth? Is that you?” called out one of the behemoth women.

  “Yeah?” Beth replied.

  “Bitch, you owe Katrina fifteen dollar! She want it right now, bitch!” she managed to choke out whilst drowning in her own neck flubber. I didn't know who Katrina was, but I wanted nothing to do with her – or her subhuman bounty hunters.

  “Yeah, I know, I get paid in a few days. I'll get it to her as soon as I get it!” Beth stated. It seemed honest enough for me. But it didn't satisfy the beast women or the inbred man-bitch.

  “Bitch! You better pay up right now!” said the guy with the retarded face. “Get one of yo boyfriends to pay up!” He had an obvious addiction to anger and bad grammar. Sensing violence, I excused myself from the car and retreated into the Taco Hell – to get a cup of water, I explained to my friends whom I was abandoning shamelessly. I am such a pathetic specimen.

  I took my time, hoping the situation would sort itself out. After what felt like an appropriate amount of time, I headed back out to see if the fuckers had left yet. But of course, they hadn't, and were still making a huge fuss of the alleged fifteen-dollar debt. I saw a hostile movement by the man-bitch toward the car as he stared straight at Zach. I saw the flamer's hate boiling and he took a swing through the open window of Zach's car, as he yelled some bullshit about Zach laughing at him. god, I might have thought, this is exactly what I don't need right now, a guy at least three times my size starting shit and my only physically capable friend, Gary, sitting in the back seat completely frozen with fear. But more likely, my thoughts were probably like this: fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. At this point even the bastard's over sized lady friends were yelling for him to cease the gratuitous violence. He took multiple swings at my poor confused friend, who, luckily for him, still had some of the nasty shit from last night running its numbing course through his veins. The cows summoned their bull-headed idiot back into their vehicle and peeled off after a Taco Hell worker threatened to call the cops. Just like that it was over. What the fuck kind of world is this when a completely random stranger has the right to punch you in the head through your open window?I thought. Oh well, at least I didn't get punched in the face.

  Daniel came out and was perturbed to hear what had taken place. Zach appeared to be oddly OK with the whole thing. We drove back to the apartment and got settled down. Gary and I huddled around the plastic baggy again, laughing about how it would've gone down had we taken it before that weird encounter with the devil's retarded nephew. We distributed the LSD amongst ourselves, and each of us ate our three hits immediately. I chewed it and it tasted like chemicals – which good acid is never supposed to do, but we didn't mind a little cyanide in our trips. Just as it was melting down my throat, Zach's phone rang. Oh god, I thought, it's probably his redneck douche of a father again. Perfect timing as always. We listened while Zach tried to explain to his dad what he was doing, being careful to avoiding any mention of the chemical mayhem, and why he had not been home in four days and would be absent again tonight. He wasn't very convincing, though, and he had to bluntly refuse to go home by the end of it. Then Zach handed the phone to me saying, “He wants to speak to you.”

  “Uh, Hello?”

  “Is everything OK? That dumb kid isn't smoking crack or anything is he?” he asked. Just about convinced me he was a caring parent.

  “Yeah, no, he wouldn't do anything like that, sir. He's a good kid, everything is cool, we're just hangin' out!” I took acting classes as a kid – everyone in the room believed Zach was a good kid, and so did I for that matter.

  “Well... Can you do me a favor and try to convince him to come home?”

  “I'll do my best sir, but he seems to be enjoying himself here with his friends,” I said. He seemed to have accepted this as an appropriate response – but what choice did he have, really? He was just itching to beat Zach's ass whenever he finally showed up, I bet. We exchanged awkward good byes and I hung up.

  “Zach, your father wants you to return home, post-haste!”

  “Fuck that bastard, he can suck a dick!” he said, with strange passion. Bad vibrations crawled up my spine as the acid tingled within me. What kind of a moron would drop acid when such horrible things had just happened? I knew I had to keep him calm so nothing could creep up into his trip and ruin things for us all. I've had to take care of this man's bad mania before. It was certainly no picnic as his slobbering figure became one with the toilet while his frightened mind attempted to exorcise the demons that were deeply ingrained into his psyche. It's hard for a man with so many issues swimming around in his mind to eat acid and not have some hideous introspective nightmare. This thought led me to wonder why I had let him take three hits of potent acid. Oh well... how bad could it be? I thought, as if tempting the acid gods to show me just how much hell they could raise for my band of tripping delinquents and me.

  The conversation that followed most likely consisted of varying types of reminiscence of past experiences that would make everyone else's sound like a lovely stroll through a daisy filled meadow on a warm summer's day. In many circles it is common for the males to try to impress one another, competing in wits, brawn, or fearlessness. My circle happens to think downing an 8 ounce bottle of cough syrup, 3 rolls of triple-stacked ecstasy, and chugging a bottle
of cheap vodka is just the most amazing thing – even if it does render one without the ability to talk or function even on a basic form of survival instinct. The closer you can get to death, the more alpha you are. At least this is how I see it. Maybe that’s my problem when deciding what I should do with my idle time: too brave to be sane, but too much of a coward to go all the way. Death seems so appealing I want to get a taste of it, but too mysterious to jump head first into the unknown.

  We opted to end up at my house for this fine trip, where volume level and sanitation were not an issue. I had a musical set-up in the basement complete with drum set, amp, and PA system. Plus, the goddamn flies in this apartment were intolerable and I wanted to get the hell out. I flailed my arms at one hovering about . Gary went to his room and returned wearing a hoodie – hood up – and a large pair of over-the-ear headphones.

  “I’m gonna go for a walk,” he announced to nobody in particular, beginning to feel something itch inside his skull.

  “Hmm, that sounds fun, want some company?” I asked.

  “Yeah, that’s cool,” he replied. I got up to leave with him.

  “I'll call you guys when we get to my house so you can head over there,” I said. Then I closed the door behind me. We walked down the stairs and out the front door of the apartment building.

  “Cigars and orange juice, man!” I yelled loud enough that anyone with an open window would’ve heard. I could just imagine some lard-ass sitting on his lard-ass shoving WhallyWhirled-brand bologna into his fucking goiter and hearing my momentary rant and calling up his senator to have cigars and orange juice banned because the local children were getting their kicks from them and we can't have local children getting kicks from anything but complex equations from dusty chalk boards in dreary vacuum sealed classrooms. Fuck that guy.

  “GENIUS!” Gary yelled. We decided to stop at a gas station for our acid supplies. We were laughing about the amazing feeling of walking at the very start of an acid trip when the side walk seems to stretch out in front of you and it’s as if no matter how hard you try you can't seem to get anywhere. The Dolly Zoom effect. This was happening exactly at that very moment for me and it made me all the more giddy to be describing it. We arrived at the gas station, though it didn't feel like I had made any ground. We were about to enter it when I heard someone shouting my name in the distance.

  “goddamnit, I think I'm hearing voices already,” I said.

  “No, I heard it too. Who the fuck is that?”

  “Fuck if I know, goddamn people can't just leave me alone,” I said. But I secretly loved random people trying to get my attention when I was lousing about town. I wondered what was going through their heads. HEY LOOK jAMES IS TRIPPING ON ACID! LET’S FUCK WITH HIM! We heard my name again but all we could see were the headlights of a car in a distant parking lot – and the longer I squinted after them, the more they began to float from the ground (becoming one with the astral bodies of the outer-reaches of Star Trek movies). We quickly got bored and went inside. We grabbed premium orange juice with pulp from the shelves and strawberry flavored Swisher Sweet Cigars. Our precious kicks. As we walked up to the register to pay, an old man with a white beard and long gray hair walked through the door. His clothes were shabby and loose on his emaciated frame. He stared at us intently – as did the cashier. IGNORE THEM, I said to myself, it’s just the Lysergic Acid running its course, it's not real. I froze and clenched my eyes shut, trying to forget about hobo and cashier demons.

  “Is one of you james?” said the hobo.

  “Uhhh, yeah? Who's asking?” I said. I nearly pissed myself when I forced myself to look at the creature.

  “Well, I don't know. Somebody out there keeps yelling your name.”

  “Oh, yeah, I don't know what those fuckers are doing, but they just keep yelling my name, I tried calling back, but to no avail, they just kept calling for me. Strangest thing, I don't know exactly what to do about all that. Do you?” It had become an acid-babble. A million words rambling off at an astonishing rate with no real thought behind them other than the exquisite pleasure of noise-utterance. But there was no response and the demon shuffled past us to the back of the store. What the hell just happened? Did I just divulge too much information to this homeless person, whom I did not know – on this or any other plain? Did I really ask him what he thought I should do about the parking lot fuckers? Or was it all in my head? These are the questions that will forever torture a tripping soul. Move on, too many questions without answers here.

  After we paid and exited the gas station, I said, “Looks like the car is gone.”

  “What car?” Gary asked. I wondered if he actually expected a reasonable answer from me.

  “Probably some jealous acid seeker who couldn't find a fix for the night and felt the need to torture someone who had accomplished the goal,” I said, not paying attention to what was spewing out of my mouth – like diarrhea of the mouth. I couldn't find an appropriate end to those statements, I had became far too distracted by the way our legs moved as we trudged along a vacant parking lot. It looked as though the top halves of our bodies were unaware that our bottom halves were moving us along. Legs with minds of their own wondering through a desert of cold asphalt and white lines, carrying useless top halves along like wretched stowaways. We were both in our own worlds. We were conversing about a certain twitching derangement, which existed everywhere around us. The buildings, the trees, the very ground we walked on seemed to breath and sigh upon glancing at our slinking bodies. How could this be happening?

  We walked through the parking lot and remounted the sidewalk. Gary's cellphone began to ring, and he answered it without looking at who it was.

  “SHIT!” he screamed and he immediately hung up, “Dude, it was my mom!” I laughed and he began verbally processing what his next move would be, “Should I call her back?”

  “No way man!” He called her back.

  “Hey mom, sorry, my phone is all messed up.”

  “It's ok, I was just calling to let you know that James is here looking for you,” she said. I was surprised I could hear what she was saying. I wondered if I was imagining the other end of the conversation. Like the brain tends to do with LSD, filling in the gaps with information that doesn't exist in any normal sense, but exists in some realm of the universe of the mind. Like when at night, you look at the sky and you find yourself encased in a massive dome of neon paisley patterns and psychedelic swirls more beautiful than any sunset – too gorgeous to be legal, I guess.

  “Uh...” Gary said. What is going on? I'm standing right here. How can I be at Gary's house too? The entire world must be mad on drugs. Either that, or I've stumbled into some parallel universe where I can exist in two places at once, but be completely unaware of the other me's location, but maintain a goal to fuck the minds of everyone I encounter. Yes, that must be it. I am awesome.

  “Yeah, where should I tell him you are?” his mother asked.

  “OH! James Ocean!” he said. “Look, don't tell him where I am, or where I live!” He hung up the phone again. Damn this James Ocean kid, what the hell. We continued on our journey unfazed. After a while we walked in front of our friend Ari's house. We were good friends with her and we decided it would be nice to talk with her. Ari is an innocent looking girl, a few years younger than us. A succubus of sorts. She's a thin girl with abs of steel and pedophilish petite breasts. Blonde hair and gorgeous eyes – deeper than any asshole I have ever peered into. A personality of a party chick with intensely irresponsible drug abusing habits – in a true rock and roll spirit. She would be perfect if she weren’t such a heartless little cunt. If this one didn't break your heart at one point or another then it's because she broke your dick off.

  “Well, do you think it would be weird if I called her? I mean, it’s kinda late,” Gary asked. As if I knew the difference between weird and normal – let alone at that moment.

  “Go for it, I'm sure she could pull the dildo out for a moment to talk with us,” On
that note he called her.

  “HEY! ARI! It's Gary! Me and james are outside your house and we are three gels acid, and we're coming into your house right now.” He was twisting the front door's doorknob.

  “Wait, Really?” she said hesitantly.

  “Uh... NO!” He hung up.

  We ran back to the sidewalk, somewhat saddened that we were unable to discuss matters of grave unimportance with our dear friend, Ari. But I wasn't too worried, I find myself knocking on her door for no real reason while I am tripping from time to time. Maybe it's because it's the only time when I wasn't afraid of her – her thrusting charms, her engorged beauty and her pulsating kindness.

  Up ahead, off to the left of us, in a car dealership's lawn, I spotted a giant rock.

  “Oh shit, a rock!” We approached it slowly, like a lioness sneaks upon its prey. Touching it cautious-like, in case it decided to burn us. Which it didn't.

  “Wow... I wonder if it's real,” Gary said.

  “Hm... Yeah... there has to be a way we can test it or something, right?” This made sense, how can a passerby be unaware if a rock was real or not? So we discussed methods of testing it. We felt its temperature, its weight and its stability. All inconclusive. Damn. Gary stood on it as I hugged it. Then in a flash our temporal lobes kicked back into action and we realized the Neanderthal methodology we'd been subscribing too. And it was over, it had been a beautiful moment of uninhibited glory ruined by rational thinking. We found ourselves back on our path without a suspect in the case of Authenticity of Dealership Rock. Another unsolved mystery for future sociologists and neurologists to publish long-winded articles about in highly reputable, peer-reviewed journals.

  We came to the end of the parking lot, which bordered a large grassy hill. I prepared myself for an intense climb, but was delightfully surprised at how big it really wasn't. Then, in the near-distance, I saw humans growing out of the grass like Bob Ross' happy flowers. They grew right out of the ground.