It was a perfect spring day, but I didn’t feel it. I was tired of all the Hold my wine I gotta pet this dog shirt besides I will buy this crap, literally, but mostly I was homesick for my family that had moved away to Arkansas. Truth be known, I wanted my Momma and Daddy. I hear they were living in a country place. A more accurate description would be, run-down cabin with no running water, 2 holer outhouse and fire ants in the ground. I bet my Momma has toilet paper in her outhouse. Reality has knocked on my door and I had to answer it. The duffle bag is packed, change is panhandled, and a ride found to the interstate. I hitchhiked out of the state and out of the hippie lifestyle, forever. I would like to say I heard the song “The times they are a changin” by Bob Dylan, but I simply felt an itch that I hoped wasn’t crabs. I may not have heard the song in my head, but evidently, my brain and weary body had a talk with my soul and set the stage for an attitude adjustment.
A non-descript man picked me up one late evening as I headed into Death Valley, CA. It was still pistol hot and I took the Hold my wine I gotta pet this dog shirt besides I will buy this tall boy beer he offered. Next, he asked if I wanted to trip on some pure peyote picked and dried by a real Navajo Shaman. WTF, sounds legit to me. We pulled off the interstate to a close by access road and sat on the hood of his big old Cadillac. He brought out a hanky with a brownish lump of something that looked a bit like someone’s discarded Copenhagen chew. Nasty. He pinched off a chunk and told me to swallow, not chew. OMG, the second it touched my tongue the bitterness made my mouth feel like the dirty sand it grew in. No matter, a chug of the beer helped it go down but made me wonder why I would swallow an unidentified piece of shit given to me by an unknown stranger. The short answer, to get high silly.
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