A Stoner’s Trip

DISCLAIMER:  This is fictional story.  It is an instalment of a series of fictional stories involving drug use as a central plot theme.  Reader discretion is advised.  The provision of this story over the Internet, or through any other means of communication, is not to be interpreted as a suggestion or recommendation to use drugs.  The reader assumes any and all responsibilities derived from his or her actions.

2008 10 10, Marijuana and Hip Hop, by George Bookman (.txt)

Last night, I smoked pot with Frank Clear.  Following  that, he, I, and a mutual friend discussed drug policy in these United States and how best to effect positive change.

Once again, I forgot to keep accurate time.  I know the marijuana took effect five to fifteen minutes after inhalation, but I cannot at this time provide details any more precise than that.

I do recall standing around and wondering when it would take effect.  It seems to take abnormally long.  I asked Frank if he was feeling it, and he said he was not.  Ten, maybe thirty second later, he corrected himself, saying that he was.

Not long after this, maybe a minute or two, I, too, was under its effects.  It’s worth noting that I had no negative effects this time.  No panic attacks and no flashbacks.

We were not at Frank’s place, but rather the apartment of a friend of his.  It eventually came time to leave the dorm and trek to Frank’s car—which was a rather interesting experience given how unfamiliar I was with the layout of this building.  We encountered some people on the elevator who assisted us.

I would never drive high, or drunk.  I find such a proposition rather terrifying.  Luckily, Frank was feeling rather good to drive.  On the way back, he played a couple hip hop artists, exposing me to “Del tha Funkee Homosapien,” with whose music I immediately fell in love.

They don’t play good rap or hip hop on the radio often.  They definitely don’t play this.  It was excellent.

I had to ask myself, though: does this sound as good as it does because it is naturally good music, or because I am stoned?  I would suspect it was a combination of each.

By the time we got back to Frank’s apartment, it was around one this morning, and the effects of the marijuana had virtually entirely worn off.  I attempted to read a book for class, and found absolutely no difficulty in comprehending it.

Prior to falling asleep on his couch, I gave greater reflection to my salvia experience, and in particular the first moments thereof.  I may or may not write about it tomorrow.