You wake in pure darkness, the stench of vomit burning your nostrils. You have no idea where you are, nor do you really care, you just try to go back to sleep. Good luck. When you finally feel that you can move you notice the that the psychoactive cocktail you slurped down the night before has left you with a mess in your pants that you haven't experienced since early puberty. Now you kinda care where you are.

So you feel around for your cell phone. You find the bucket, and decide to use it once again, and again. You find the phone, and light up the floor. You light your way to your cigarettes and light one up, only way to keep from yakking again. Again using your trusty cell phone you wander up the stairs to the door, where you are greeted with severe pain and temporary blindness.

When the room fades into visibility you realize where you are, at a buddies house. You were in the basement hiding from the cops when you passed out. You greet the surface dwellers and ask what happened with the cops, not that you really care.

You call up your hetero-lifemate, to come pick you up. You run to the bathroom. You yak again. You scour the house for anyone willing to hook you up with a bag they can sell for the piddly pocket change you have on hand. As you make your way out the front door someone yells at you to clean off your face before you leave the house, as to not look suspicious. You do. Then you leave.

Outside waits your closest boy. You greet, you hug, you get in the car. You bust out the bag you swindled that kid for in the house, and you stuff it into the cigarette roller. You can't hand roll a joint, you're too out of it. As you roll you rant about how great the night was, and how you woke up with a surprise party in your skivvies.

Once the bit is rolled and you spark the bic you crank up the George Clinton and you make a plan. You inquire as to which drugs are on the menu for the day, but no such luck. Acid left town, no money for the good weed, and duster from the drug store leave a horrible taste in your mouth. So what do you do? Should you steal more Morning glory seeds from the garden store? You would probably think about it if they hadn't just made you throw your guts up, that and made you legs feel like they've been stretched.

You tell the driver that you need starter fluid. He's baffled, as you don't have a car, but not unwilling. You ask him if he can buy the starter fluid, and tell him you'll pay him back in drugs. He accepts. So he runs in and comes back with starter fluid and unfiltered Pall Malls. You tell him to drive out to nowhere. He does.

Still baffled your main man watches as you begin your science experiment. You explain how you just made dirty ether. You and your boy breath it in until you're numb.

You discuss the feeling as if you're some kind of snob. Like you didn't just breath in poisonous chemicals on purpose. You feel like a super hero. You look like a drunk bum.

Your friend drives you home. You think he's more messed up than you by the way he's driving, but he isn't. You stumble out of the car and sit on the porch to smoke another cigarette, thanking the universe and America that you have such a wonderful life.

You walk in the front door, you apologize for being drunk to the lady that lets you crash at her place and tell her that your headed to bed. As you lie in bed you think to your self how much you accomplished today. You won't have another thought until the morning, when you have no money, you still can't feel anything, and you don't know where you are. Plus, you don't notice it, but you still smell like starter fluid.

Learn more about this author, Antony M. McCartney.
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