It was the weirdest hit I’d ever taken.

Some grade “A” acid shit cooked up in a military laboratory, or so the rat-faced bum said, y’know – back when Uncle Sam was getting fucked a long time down Saigon way.

“Will take you off the fucking scale, man, you won’t know what to believe.”

I’m not sure he could believe it when I grabbed his foil wrap and took off. That’s the kind of cold-sweating, bowel-wrenching fuck-up I’d become.

One man’s high is another man’s misery.

Back in my ends I was flying, like really tripping. House plants were talking to me, the walls bleeding. It was really bad shit. I couldn’t make out the crazy stuff from the reality.

I mean, why the fuck was that weird flying fist getting bigger and bigger?

And that’s when it hit me.

“You stole my shit, man!”