I was 15 and finally realizing some benefit of lying to my straight-laced father. He believed that I was going camping with friends for the weekend; the benefit was Grateful Dead concerts in New Jersey and New York
I called home the first night to recite a practiced portion of my truth, and Pop pounced. Yes sir, I was in fact at a "druggie carnival," but NO, I wasn't going to obey and "head [my] ass home now!!"
The fog of fun was thick. I felt opium before I ever knew what it was. My memories are marred by mescaline, so be patient. Yes, I imbibed a green solution to none of my immature problems. And of course the drop of blotter in my right eye was wrong, even though quite kaleidoscopic in hindsight.
Somewhere in the miasma of patchouli oil and onion flavored armpits, I saw an oasis; a sign that read: "Natural Milk and OREOS $5.00." I fed my face and washed the manna sludge down in no less than 5 gulps, then thanked the old gal with the hairy armpits and funny contraptions stuck to her exposed breasts.