Drugs can be fun. Drugs can even be great. Nonetheless, they can also be terrifying and utterly horrible. Please, let me explain, here. Less than an hour ago I was in the presence of many kindred spirits; upon our time we set ourselves forthwith in a great indulgence of several psychedelics, narcotics, and a vast abundance of many marijuana strains. Life was wonderful, festive, as jubilance filled the air. And that is because, you see, the primary keys of drug consumption were followed: by placing one’s self in the proper setting with righteous people. Though be mindful, for one must monitor their usage amount! You know, only take enough to where nirvana is crafted, yet coherency to the degree of socializing with other humans is still possible. Plainly, these are in the ideal terms of when drug use can be fun and can be absolutely great. However, once a threshold has been surpassed, and you let the drugs not only enhance but consume your world–WHEN YOU ENTER INTO AN UNKNOWN ENVIRONMENT!–well, that’s when it all can be terrifying and utterly horrible. Which is where I am now, in a convenience store at the peak of night standing in line–first in line! Here, watching as the clerk’s flesh slowly melts, oozes, and drips off of his face.

    And bizarre, you would think! But not for me, as this is surely not my first ever drug-induced episode out in a public setting that we are talking about here. Speaking of talking, I hear him talk: with his words producing a foreign like slur–an echoing of sorts that I cannot comprehend. Regardless, I watch him proceed on with his fruitless vocalization. Persistent!–he talks and he talks! Closely, though I focus, try to listen, with my eyes straining from their sockets, and there, succinctly, I hear him say “Sir is there anything–ANYTHING I can help you with tonight?”

     Usually, or at least generally, this kind of inquiry would not be troublesome to answer in the slightest (even under the utter obliteration of numerous intoxicants.) But presently, with neither of my hands possessing an item in them, I realize, honestly, I don’t know what I need help with. I don’t know why I am in this line, as neurotically tense and skittish beyond sentiment I become slowly I turn around to the sight of 3–4–5 different sets of people waiting–waiting on me and my indecisive drug-fueled tendencies! Instantly, my heart beats erratically, and the warm rush of embarrassment begins to fill my head. My anxiety spirals, whirls itself into a turvy with all basic motor skills, here, having gone adrift. I look downwards to the floor, and swiftly, aimlessly walk out of this line without saying a word. 

    Acid, also known as LSD, is a unique drug that works in strange ways, to say the least; it’s one of those drugs that you ride in waves. With one instant, you’ll find yourself at the peak of Mount Euphoria, and then in the next, everything will seem habitually and undesirably normal. It’s a drug that connects you with your soul; you feel the vibes and understand the emotions of others. There’s a sensation–an ecstasy feeling that it provides unlike any other drug–and is easily my favorite of the psychedelic family. However, acid, tonight, is not the only culprit of ravaging my general perception and dismantling it into futileness of this magnitude. I’ve also consumed numerous lines of cocaine, PCP, ketamine, DMT, liquid codeine, mescaline, a handful of uppers, a handful of downers–not to even mention the exceptionally nearly pure MDMA! And albeit, of that extended list, acid is by far the clear front-runner of warping my senses and turning them into incompetent mush, but isn’t that what you’d expect when you drop thirty-five hits of liquid LSD–all in your eyeballs–and all at once!

    –Currently, the floor is unsteady as my equilibrium is the same. Colors are enhanced–more vivid–yet everything pulsates in an un-welcoming fashion. The lights reflect and illuminate to a higher degree, thus leaving tracers in my path as I stagger inelegantly, but staggering not towards the unusually crafted and oddly shaped, polychromatic, red, blue, and green neon exit sign–NO!–but to the candy aisle instead.

    Yes, the candy aisle: a four-row, ten-foot-long cheaply constructed shelving system storing for my pleasure various–numerous delectable, mouth-watering, toothsome taffies, jelly beans, licorice, and–and CHOCOLATES! My mouth salivates instantly with sheer gluttony on my mind. I wipe the drool reposing upon the upper extremities of my lower lip, and cunningly–deviously grab a bag of chocolates, where appropriately, I slide them into my pockets. And now, self-possessed–and yes!–COMPOSED, I subtly–slowly analyze my immediate surroundings for any bystanders to have witnessed of my thievery–: BUT NO ONE IS LOOKING IN MY DIRECTION! At last, at ease!–I take one step, though profusely and immensely, with my face becoming florid and flush, I begin to sweat in a feverish rampant manner. As light-headed, dizzy, and faint I became, the keen curdling sense of vomit begins to arise within my esophagus. This kind of bodily reaction occurs typically when a noxious amalgamation of drugs have been ingested into the system, and an overdose is on the horizon. Every bonafide drug addict will experience an episode like this at least once in their lifetime; the key is to remain calm, accept one’s fate, and allow your body to cleanse itself through its perspiring detoxification. Disregard the rapid beat of your heart–ignore the nauseating vomitous tides that rush through your body–and let your mind cultivate its own unparalleled form of serenity. It’ll all be okay. 

    And with deep, slow breaths, I inhale the cooling oxygen that my lungs and blood currently desire. My vision, though still distorted, has adapted nicely to the inflorescent emission of the lighting fixtures. The sweat that glazed my body has dissipated; my heart smoothly, placidly beats softly in a rectifying manner, and my stomach has firmly settled itself into a calming passage of its own. My brain now not only perceives but also distinguishes logically, as the incoherency no longer disrupts my mental and bodily functions. For with what insight I’m now able to grasp, I not only understand I cannot purchase this candy because of the ignominious hairbrained fool I made myself in the moments prior–but I also conclude to the reasoning of–if I eat the candy in the store, technically, that’s not even theft, right?

    Oh, and INDECISIVE–as blah–blah–blah–I could debate and teeter ceaselessly in the legalities of this matter all day, especially stoned! But where would that really get me? Nowhere–at least not promptly–and not faster than my feet are currently traveling toward the bathroom door. See, drug addicts are instinctively compulsive, as they rarely have any to little calculation behind their acts. They’ll commit rape, they’ll rob at random, and even murder for fancy!–with so, so many gratuitous devilish deeds having occurred without thought: with the only reasoning of being under the influence of psyche altering substances. It’s horrible–it’s a shame–a damned travesty!–yet, I am only here stealing chocolate; instantly, I feel resoundingly at ease.

    Upon the entry of this hushing lavatory of welcoming seclusion, immediately I lock the door behind me–and for the first time, I am undaunted by my environment. From chaos and fear to tranquility and assurance, my world’s demeanor and perception have altered exponentially for the better. As it’s with glee–with exuberance–with every optimal emotion you could ever fathom, I, here, delve into my pockets for one thing–and one thing only: THE CHOCOLATES!

    –Yet, nearly simultaneously that I reach into my pocket, a slight, warm trickle begins to run down my right thigh. Thus quickly I pull my hand out from the cavity of my pocket and immediately discern a brown staining of sorts–: therein realization that the chocolate has melted within my pocket. Futilely, I attempt to fish it all out, but futilely (clearly) to no avail, as the chocolate has become its own unbridled mess. The chocolate’s stream down my thigh is only increasing in volume–likely due to a hole within the seem works of my jeans. For drug addicts are rarely known to dress exceptionally. Ordinarily, their clothing is unlavish–tattered–torn (with durability that has dwindled thread by thread)–and is unlaundered–dirty just like the addict themselves. In an act of desperation–and in the essence of a last resort–I disrobe of my lower portions. Yet, in this act, a discerning object falls from the interior depths of my pocket to the floor. With further observation, keenly I sight to a bag of my once lost, yet, newly found quarter ounce of Penis Envy Shrooms. An entirely new mark of salivation, here, begins to spur. 

    “Shrooms”, or a less colloquial term of Psilocybin Mushrooms, is another beloved entity of the Psychedelic Family. In the initial hour of consumption, it’ll leave your stomach tangled in knots. You’ll feel queasy, ill-suited, and tremendously lethargic. Then between hour one and two, the surrounding elements will perceptibly and dramatically begin to change. Shapes will begin to distort in peculiar fashions; the sickening restraint will no longer reside, as a euphoric sentiment will manifest seemingly from within thin air. Depending on potency and consumption amount, it can derail the actuality of your reality from anywhere between four and eight hours. Beyond initial nauseation, the only undesired trait that this drug possesses is a wickedly repugnant and odious taste: a vile desiccation that no human taste bud could ever entertain as enjoyable. 

    Steadily, in nearly fatiguing analyzation, I continue to gaze upon the shrooms (as still in my periphery is the chocolate soaked pants) where an idea has formed from that: LET’S CREATE A CHOCOLATE-SHROOM FONDUE. Brilliant!–And surely in nothing more than a short-stinted moment of dabbling within mischevious and innovative thought, I set course upon mixing and consuming of the two. Proudly, I begin submerging cap by cap and gram after gram into the chocolatey slew, where rapidly, here, I eat nearly faster than my mouth can chew! And sheerly I must be a culinary genius!–a savant or a prodigy of the most pristine and highest– 

Knock-knock-knock!
    What is that? (I just thought)–
    Knock-knock-knock–over and over!–knock-knock-knock–and there!–as the repetitive chord of thuds smack against my psychedelic-induced orb once again I theorize no more!–for here, a conclusion has been firmly established–: someone fancies to use this restroom. In an instant, my eyes trepidly cast upon this room (as not quite riddled with but definitively trickled in chocolate goo.) I look downwards, and there!–I’m reminded I have no pants on (with chocolate staining my underwear and my thigh seemingly bleached in the goo.) Quickly, sporadically, I reanalyze the mess–everywhere!–everywhere there is that chocolatey goo–EVERYWHERE!–though I resolve with the purest, most absolute and inconspicuous silence that one could ever conceivably render. 

    Currently, my heart thunderously beats in its chest, however, no one is beating at the door–at least not right now! And albeit, surely I need to navigate a way to pacify my anxieties before they heighten to an aggravated degree, yet, that’s not the simplest of tasks to suffice. With the walls beginning to shift and pulsate, distinctively I feel my eyes dilate, here, where new paranoias and toxins circulate through my body prompting my brain to slowly bleed of feral and unregulated ignorance–.

    Knock-knock-knock–again!–knock-knock-knock–”Hello!” I shriek, “Go away!”–yet, no response–still!–NO RESPONSE. “Hello, who is it? What do you need? Tell me now filthy degenerate, tell me now, what do you need?” Yet, it remains still–still silent with not a response. And true! I’m nervous–dubiously and neurologically nervous! However, here, transparently I see it and understand it clearly! Someone is mocking, trying to make me the jest of their entertainment. For why else would anyone persist to knock repetitively–repetitively–repetitively–without even saying a single word?

    The drug–the drugs are steadily intensifying, and are nearly in full-fledging effect. My own words are no longer coherent to even myself, as a drug enveloped psychosis is nearing its fang-revealing approach. I stand heavily and unbalanced, with the ceiling’s weight resting upon my shoulders, my knees buckle, and I slip upon the chocolatey goo. In sight, in awe, and in fear, the mirrors, the walls, the ceiling, everything is melting. The floor that I repose upon awkwardly teeters and sways in undulating ripples, and the–knock-knock-knock–again!–knock-knock-knock–

    “What is it?” I wail, “What do you need?”–and again–silence–silence!–SILENCE–and now done with the shinanigans!–mercilessly, I stand to my feet, and courageously without thought and with only declaratory action, I march to the door, where, with brute rage, fling that door open–wide, wide open!

    And there, a line of people are and have been waiting on me and my indecisive drug-fueled tendencies (precisely as before.) With three people this time–three males all standing and displaying different facial expressions. One appears in utter disgust, one doesn’t know what to think, and the other is chuckling while he stares at me. His eyes, however, direct me to the point of laughter. I look downwards, and there, it all makes perfectly logical sense. For not only do I have no pants on, but the chocolate–the chocolate (as indicated by the one laughing) are all likely presuming the chocolate to be feces. The warm rush of embarrassment finds itself, here, full circle. As stoned–and obliterated, I lock into all three pairs of eyes like a deer caught in headlights, and slowly–slowly while backpedaling, I nod to them once. I turn my shoulders inhibiting any further interaction with those three gentlemen, and a smirk instantly begins to manifest, wherein thought: I guess not your every trip to the convenience store is the same. And with that prompting a devious little chuckle, I walk through the doors in awe while starring at that unusually crafted and oddly shaped, polychromatic neon sign–WOW!