Cat Tranqs

We'd been waiting since midnight for Scrib's friends to come pick us up, and he hadn't been having the best of times.

Most of the time that he'd been conscious, he'd been wandering in circles, mumbling about how he wanted to go home. I had to remind him incessantly that we were in the wrong city. Finally, he threw up enough colourful shit to fill up a bathtub and passed out in a bush. I sat down near the bush to keep guard and wait for his friends to arrive.

The sound of Chelsea's vehicle roused Scrib from his intoxicated slumber and he bounded to the car, his face curving into a grin of angelic proportions. His reunion with Chelsea and Sheldon (her boyfriend) was filled with hugs and such cuteness that the pale night sky seemed to glow golden.

Chelsea introduced us to her friends - some that Scrib knew, and some not - and I was fascinated by how relaxed and non-judgemental the entire group was. Such was the entirety of Vernon.

They loaded us into their cars, Scrib joined Chelsea in her car and I jumped into Sheldon's. We quickly engrossed ourselves in some hilarious conversations and before we knew it, Sliverpick was passing bumps of ketamine around to everyone in the vehicle.

Once we arrived at Chelsea's place, we wobbled out of the car like inebriated sloths and ventured up the great mountain that was Chelsea's driveway. We reached her house and were quick to claim all the cushioned surfaces we could find. More bumps of ketamine were unloaded, like rounds being fired from a clip loaded with blurred vision.

Those who could muster the courage to stand were off balance and forever floppy. Such is the Ketamine walk - you're perpetually powerless to stand up straight, but you'll never quite hit the ground. The night kept on, conversations were laden with wit, nostrils were laden with drugs.

By the time 6 AM rolled around, Scrib had been KO'd for a few hours, and I figured it was time to write a really crappy drug-induced poem and hit the hay myself. Tomorrow would be a great day, we could tell.