After the rain stops, the wind picks up. Forest brush, normally blocked by the towering old men of valley, gets up to stretch. I hear it hitting my tent, but I'm still fucked up from the night before. I can't really remember how many pills I took, the liquor I drank, the story I told (the dirty one with the dog that's not really true or the clean 7-liner that involves a can of Coke and basketful of soft-smelling laundry). It hurts to recall. Like a screwdriver digging into my left temple. The shit is making it difficult to recall how many tongues I had in my mouth last night or the number of times I took a piss (and the fact that I have a full bladder right now only adds emphasis). What was that blue pill again? Sheena, who I should say isn't a punk rocker and really is quite bland, dropped it into my palm after I complained about monotony. She said it's left over from her trip to Brussels and that if I wanted to shake things up, I'd swallow it. I remember thinking how fucked up it was. This bitch, the girl with the oily brown hair (and not oily in the dirty sexy kind of way, but more so in the library bitch that doesn't realize social norms, (and my God and for christ's sake, dye your hair. it should be, no, it HAS to be black if you want any sort of sexual recognition!) is giving me recreation advice by-way-of narcotics. The blind is giving me directions based upon visual landmarks. Got to be goddamn kidding me. Either way like an idiot, I geared up enough saliva, just enough to halt any gag reflexes, and took the goddamn blue pull. I think it had a happy face imprinted on it's rounded side. but as it approached my gaping face hole, it looked like a frown. Think I had it upside down.