The Story of a Girl On Acid
We ventured out into a city where I felt like I could conquer the world. It was nothing out of the ordinary; I felt this way simply because of the city lights, the company of my loved ones, and the smell of clouds condensing with water before rainfall. It was liberating, walking down the streets of Seattle after dark, where the only thing I predicted is we would all feel differently about what was happening around us. Even if the friends scattered behind me were terrified, I felt, in this moment, the happiest in my life.
I was safe with the guidance of three larger men and the view overlooking the water from where the sidewalk lead was absolutely breathtaking. It was on our way there that I could tell we weren’t alone. No, in fact, as we jaunted towards the docks and further away from our hotel, we encountered the company of many drifters. One of which, I found a little too entertaining.
He walked along side of us, opposite of the street and yelling profanities. I stared at him in psychedelic delight, wondering if my lack of sleep was playing tricks on my mind, but, as reality would have it, this man with coiled black hair and crazy eyes was not my imagination. Though he was screaming obscenities about rape and killing our parents, all words that I should have been frightened of, I continuously laughed. It didn’t matter, Billy was in defense mode, ready to jump on any unshaven and sweaty man that might attack. So I kept laughing. I kept laughing and skipping and smiling. I was after all invincible.
In Seattle, it was apparent that for every person that lived in a house, there was a wall assigned to a bum. The shadowed man had stopped along a white building, leaned against a wall and the night fell silent. I continued to skip towards the front of my delightful group, humming a tune as I began getting closer to them. In the midst of our walk, after seeing the horror on the faces of my friends, I giggled,
“Was that man crazy?”
