The night I turned 18 Chris and I ate an 8th of mushrooms each (you know, the wacky kind). Everyone we were with disappeared, and in good fashion we bugged the fuck out.
Why did I do this? Is it gonna be like this forever? Why is my ribcage so squishy?
I could hear every word, spoken by every person on that shitty board walk in Ocean City Md. The ground was running away from me. My Camel Special Lights were attached to the pack with crazy glue. And, I was wearing shoes..
Wait. That last part is perfectly normal. Everyone wears shoes. This is commonplace…
[Chris] That’s the problem, man! You don’t need ’em!
[Me] But my mom just bought me these..
I looked down at my eight day old Puma Romas. They were fucking shiny man. Bright blue, and fresh. And, to top it off, they matched my favorite shirt. A blue York Prep polyester baseball Tshirt. A $2 thrift store buy that I still have today.
[Me] They’re nice shoes.
Chris has taken his shoes off.
[Chris] YOU DON’T NEED THEM! AHHHH!!!
This is the time when he made a sprint for the ocean, and flung his foot protectors into the Atlantic.
He was running and laughing like a mad man. What could I do? I tossed my Pumas into the water. And, I gotta say- it helped. It was liberating.
Fucking dumb, cause we spent the rest of the night tripping barefoot in dirty ass O.C.M.D. But, it helped me grip the trip a little better. Liberating…
Now, this was gonna be the part of the post where I tied this story into my life today. You know, some cheesy metaphor about throwing my problems away. But, reliving that trip really made me want to do mushrooms again.
So, if you’ll excuse me I have to make a phone call.