He gets up early this one morning awaiting mail, browses the internet, checking this and that.
*thunk*
He's thinking, "was that the door latch?"
It was indeed the door latch, a brown bag with a white envelope and a small plastic bag of some substance, little did he know what he was in for.
He opens the bag "Ah darn I wanted the other order, it'll probably be tomorrow, let's try this for now"
After opening he noticed what he had received, 1/8th of weed inside a white letter and a small sealed gram of phenazepam. He rolls himself a joint
"Just a single skinner, the flatmates are out so I'll blow out the window, made a bit of a mess of that, oh well at least it's smokable and christ this is some beautiful smelling very dry weed I got's me here."
All things go well, the sun is shining and the window catches the morning sun, the effects of the joint slowly bloom within him, he's watching some BBC4 documentary on weed smoking and the harms it does [sic] ironically. He doesn't really want to get super-baked at this hour though so he leaves it at that, planning more later. He reaches for the plastic bag, knowing its effects having had done the research but regardless what could go wrong?
All that could go wrong in this blissful state is I fall asleep in my chair for a few hours, I sprinkle bits onto some glass there are maybe 10 grains of salt's worth there, so I lick it and have some water. 30 minutes pass, nothing. I lick my finger put it in the bag and then lick whatever's left on my finger.
He's gone now. The next thing he will know is waking up at his parents' home 200 miles away confused as to how he got there. It had hit him, he'd probably gone to sleep for a good amount of time. He was informed that the weed was finished and nobody knows what happened to that little bag of phenazepam.
He's informed by his friends that he was wondering round the flat aimlessly, walking into things, the kitchen had some form of pasta brewed in a pint glass and there's general spillage everywhere. 2 days after taking it he's put on the pre-booked train with his bag packed by his good friends, at least he thinks he has, looking back he doesn't know a thing that happened during that time.
When he came aware of where he was it was 3-4 days ahead of when it was.. his friends told him it was Thursday but no, adamant in his words of "but this is only Tuesday, how can it be Thursday already" so obviously in some kind of knowing state, not that he can remember back to then. That time is a mystery.
Over the next few days from waking up here I have had some real deep talks with the parents, I went to the local pub but after 3 pints of Tennents I was walked home by friends again. There's a night out the next day in town, so I drive it (as I say I think I'm normal, people have said that I had slurred speech and that it was absolutely noticeable, just not to me). I'm parked, I get some Stella, 4 pints to be exact, and drive myself to my friends' flat. I down the drink pretty quickly, but I'm still good for going into town for more carnage. I'm not, I get pushed down some stairs by a bouncer and my sister drives me home.
It's a few days later now. I'm fine now, I know this. I believe I had the phenazepam on me the whole time and kept on taking small amounts. It's that or I ordered some to this address where my parents live.
I must have forgotten that though, because at the time I can remember thinking that I'd ordered it to the parents home.
Well it seems I went on one hell of a binge, the lack of memory fucks you, at least I must have had the sleep I wanted it for. Why did I decide to go on a binge of Phenaz? Because I was on it I guess.
From what I can work out I'd forgotten that I'd had some, and had more then, and every time I went to have a little bit I had no recollection of having taken it. My friends can back me up on this.
Anyway that's my report, lost about a week, if you don't have very good friends or scales then don't touch. I'll stress that last part.
IF YOU HAVE NO SCALES, DO NOT TOUCH
Best part: I can't remember the train journey.
Worst part: The strain I put on my friendships.
Do if it if you like, but get some fucking scales and work your way up properly.
*thunk*
He's thinking, "was that the door latch?"
It was indeed the door latch, a brown bag with a white envelope and a small plastic bag of some substance, little did he know what he was in for.
He opens the bag "Ah darn I wanted the other order, it'll probably be tomorrow, let's try this for now"
After opening he noticed what he had received, 1/8th of weed inside a white letter and a small sealed gram of phenazepam. He rolls himself a joint
"Just a single skinner, the flatmates are out so I'll blow out the window, made a bit of a mess of that, oh well at least it's smokable and christ this is some beautiful smelling very dry weed I got's me here."
All things go well, the sun is shining and the window catches the morning sun, the effects of the joint slowly bloom within him, he's watching some BBC4 documentary on weed smoking and the harms it does [sic] ironically. He doesn't really want to get super-baked at this hour though so he leaves it at that, planning more later. He reaches for the plastic bag, knowing its effects having had done the research but regardless what could go wrong?
All that could go wrong in this blissful state is I fall asleep in my chair for a few hours, I sprinkle bits onto some glass there are maybe 10 grains of salt's worth there, so I lick it and have some water. 30 minutes pass, nothing. I lick my finger put it in the bag and then lick whatever's left on my finger.
He's gone now. The next thing he will know is waking up at his parents' home 200 miles away confused as to how he got there. It had hit him, he'd probably gone to sleep for a good amount of time. He was informed that the weed was finished and nobody knows what happened to that little bag of phenazepam.
He's informed by his friends that he was wondering round the flat aimlessly, walking into things, the kitchen had some form of pasta brewed in a pint glass and there's general spillage everywhere. 2 days after taking it he's put on the pre-booked train with his bag packed by his good friends, at least he thinks he has, looking back he doesn't know a thing that happened during that time.
When he came aware of where he was it was 3-4 days ahead of when it was.. his friends told him it was Thursday but no, adamant in his words of "but this is only Tuesday, how can it be Thursday already" so obviously in some kind of knowing state, not that he can remember back to then. That time is a mystery.
Over the next few days from waking up here I have had some real deep talks with the parents, I went to the local pub but after 3 pints of Tennents I was walked home by friends again. There's a night out the next day in town, so I drive it (as I say I think I'm normal, people have said that I had slurred speech and that it was absolutely noticeable, just not to me). I'm parked, I get some Stella, 4 pints to be exact, and drive myself to my friends' flat. I down the drink pretty quickly, but I'm still good for going into town for more carnage. I'm not, I get pushed down some stairs by a bouncer and my sister drives me home.
It's a few days later now. I'm fine now, I know this. I believe I had the phenazepam on me the whole time and kept on taking small amounts. It's that or I ordered some to this address where my parents live.
I must have forgotten that though, because at the time I can remember thinking that I'd ordered it to the parents home.
Well it seems I went on one hell of a binge, the lack of memory fucks you, at least I must have had the sleep I wanted it for. Why did I decide to go on a binge of Phenaz? Because I was on it I guess.
From what I can work out I'd forgotten that I'd had some, and had more then, and every time I went to have a little bit I had no recollection of having taken it. My friends can back me up on this.
Anyway that's my report, lost about a week, if you don't have very good friends or scales then don't touch. I'll stress that last part.
IF YOU HAVE NO SCALES, DO NOT TOUCH
Best part: I can't remember the train journey.
Worst part: The strain I put on my friendships.
Do if it if you like, but get some fucking scales and work your way up properly.
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