The nonsense brought on by the jolly rancher the other night is finally beginning to subside, and I’ll be damned if I ever partake in such foolishness again. At least this week.
With these things, its best to make sure the coast is clear as far as your schedule is concerned, that you’ve made the necessary adjustments for the days ahead before popping it.
Mine was green apple. Given to me by one of my best friends out here now, who also happens to be my employer technically speaking, while he took one along with another friend of mine and second employer who was lying down apprehensively for his first tattoo on Sunset Blvd. He was the lone customer for a lone tattoo artist working at this shop, Sunset Strip Tattoo. The artist was a former lumberjack who’d recently married upon moving here from Colorado–the former base of his forestry operations.
The tattoo came on quick and I’d returned home that night feeling no different yet from the jolly rancher until maybe an hour after consumption, marked by an extraordinary sense of my brain growing wings and effortless departing from my skull, floating toward the heavens for some night-long vacation and leaving the rest of me to fend pathetically for itself in its mindless stupor.
I crawled into bed terrified of my very existence. “Sleep. Sleep now. Yes. That is what is most important,” I kept reassuring myself after making all sorts of strange notes to myself all indicating the general need to remember this very moment, somehow. I pulled the sheets over my head and began laughing almost uncontrollably at the situation that faded into black and into a remote dream that I never remembered, but that surely is the kind that can never be dreamt again.
Ren Michael 