I was driven through Pennsylvania on a cloud of Clonozopam (1mg /once a day) for the last three days. “Suddenly I see” by KT Tunstall and “Rehab” by Amy Winehouse were constantly playing in the background. Half of the crowd was in its early twenties, glorious, free, slim, on Ritalin, well-read and idealistic. The other neurotic, miserable, troubled, enslaved and vapid half, released a last time to the wild, tried to sing along, mixing alcohol and prescription drugs. It became quickly difficult to differentiate the lawyers from the college seniors and the computer programmers. Everybody wore layers, hoodies and boots and tended to be of the homosexual orientation. There were two trucks and we skied enough to justify getting together and yet it felt like we were traveling really light. I think someone played Keane and “Fidelity” by Regina Spektor really often but I was too f**ked up to understand the lyrics. There were a lot of fast words and witty comments and cute smiles and my accent went berserk as my mind collapsed. We all went to meet the Scranton community at some point and eventually some of us even ended up having sex with the said-community. The pictures were really embarrassing for everybody involved. Nobody talked about real estate or Iraq. Ecology was merely mentioned by David D. and I said something trite about love and friendster. Everybody had really white teeth besides Mark H. who chewed tobacco and spitted for three days straight while telling stories about scary fetus, semi-famous drug-addict Dcisters and his next youtube video. He also tapped into my Alzolam 1978 reserve and appeared to be manic in the morning. I hope he is hooked. Jesse S. was sweet, laid back and unafraid. Julius’s hands were shaky. The second day at lunchtime, I felt really good and lucid. I noticed that everybody had really beautiful eyes. It freaked me out a little then the Klonopin kicked in and I thought maybe it was not that bad to be 28. Somebody told me “relax. It's only a song” and I replied “you’re a good person” but at that point, nobody could understand a word of what I was saying anymore. Someone wrote “I love cock” on my forearm and it was really true and it just does not go away. I kept staring at the lawyers as their week-end of freedom was slowly ending. Tomorrow I‘ll have to blackmail jogging doctor into increasing the dosage of my current prescription. It’s going to break his heart but it was worth it.
Which half do I fall in?
Posted by: David D | Tuesday, February 20, 2007 at 12:38 PM
Six hours in a car with FHC and we were all screaming for Klonopin!
Posted by: Russ W. | Tuesday, February 20, 2007 at 06:24 PM
Our parents had lunch at the Jules Verne restaurant in the Eiffel Tower the other day, and while marveling at the wonders of Paris, my stepmother berated my father for not checking to see whether FHC was in town.
They've never been to Paris before. Forgive them.
Posted by: Old Fagat | Wednesday, February 21, 2007 at 01:31 AM
"...driven through Pennsylvania on a cloud of Clonozopam...."
Beautiful.
Posted by: Mark H. | Tuesday, February 27, 2007 at 09:11 PM