I saw things you wouldn't believe that night: a car so pink that I wanted to make love to it; a dog that wanted to dance; a clown screaming out "Cornershop Cornflakes. The best to you - even terrible!"; and the colors... the colors... the colors...
I was real careful crossing the streets as I knew my reaction times weren't so good (neither was my grip on reality) after all the liquor, the superstrength nutmeg oil and the MDMA and all.
As I neared Santanville I tossed cookies all over the sidewalk. "There goes the ketamine," I thought. My stomach might have felt lighter but my head still felt kind of weird.
I decided to walk around the block a few dozen times. I barfed a few more times. Each time I'd think, "There goes the whisky," or "There goes the heroine".
I was starting to feel the cold night air. The colors were getting less bright. I was starting to make intelligent decisions like, "Oh, let's avoid the piles of vomit that someone's kindly left behind!" and I started to think about how late it must be and that I needed to be up early in the morning for work and all.
I walked up to my granddaddy's house and turned the key in the lock. Once inside I was me again. The girl who still lives with her grandddaddy at the age of 22; the girl who never brings guys back to the house; the girl who reads her Bible and helps out in Sunday school; the girl who needed to be up in four hours to go to work to welcome six new people into the company she supervises for and brief them on how to use our software. And I felt like shit.