We’ve got some pot, good stuff, not skunkweed, Dan has acid—blotter, white dragon, single hit, I take one, Dan takes two, Mike takes two. Me and Dan and Mike are gonna trip and hang out except we don't have anywhere to hang; Dan is my rockabilly wannabe loser boyfriend, Mike there's his best friend. 

We pool our money get some beer and buy some gas for Dan's mother's car we buy enough to fill the tank, that car is red and white with silver trim it's pimped-out 80's style, now money-wise we're broke but we’ve got half an ounce of primo weed, blotter acid, beer, and a full tank of gas, I’m 16, they’re 17, and it's Saturday night in Memphis, TN.

We drive around laughing our asses off ‘cause on acid, everything is funny; we’re at a stoplight on Jackson Avenue, it’s about 11:30 or twelve, this old lady teeters out to the middle of Jackson Avenue in her old-lady nightie, she just stops in the middle of the intersection and lifts up that old-lady nightie and starts peein' in the middle of the street, any other time that'd just be sad but it’s hilarious right now and we find this old rundown mom-and-pop grocery store called the "Sit and Chew" and it doesn't sound that funny now but you had to be there, and you had to be on blotter acid.

It’s getting pretty late, Dan and Mike take me home but we smoke another joint and sit in my parents’ driveway for what seems like hours and is probably more like 15 minutes, tops. I’m disappointed in that single-hit white dragon blotter acid, I should have a good 4-6 hours left I swear I feel like I’m coming down though.

Still, I know I won’t sleep for hours yet and I want to lay there in the dark and write words in the black air with my fingers and watch the trails my fingers make I brush my hair just to feel those little silver tingles in my head I lean in closer to the mirror my pupils look like black marbles you’d think they hold the keys to the kingdom I stare at them so long...

Then just like that, I'm gone. 

Just like that, it's all like static on a tv screen; this isn't right, something’s really really wrong.

Think of something simple what's 2 + 2, I don't know but I do know that is fucking bad not knowing what 2+ 2 is I turn the lights out sit in that dark room chase my mind across continents that don't exist they talk about the power of the mind I thought it was all bullshit maybe it is but I want my thoughts and feelings back even if they suck I want them back being blank is worse. 




Over and over and over and the guy on the radio says it's the anniversary of Jimi Hendrix's death I didn't kill Jimi Hendrix this is never going to end they'll put me in a glass cage with airholes and a sign that says WHY YOU SHOULDN'T DO ACID and once a month they'll send a doctor in to ask me what 2+2 is and I still can’t say and I still don’t know which means I'm still alive and that I'm dead. 


I’m a small gal, 5'2', at 16, I’m rail-thin, little itty bitty.

Dan and Mike, they’re big stout fellas…and I should kick both their asses, from here to kingdom come.

That single-hit, white dragon blotter acid...

turns out Dan and Mike forgot to tell me, those were 4-way hits.

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