You retrieve your newly-acquired jar of cannabis, open it up, and take a deep whiff. It's green and pungent. Finding new connections from town to town hasn't been easy, but your reputation within the counter-culture has kept it from being as difficult as it could be. You don't do the deals in person, of course; the mask seems like it would sketch a dealer right the fuck out. Generally Kyle and Kadmon take care of it.

This time, as you recall, Adam made the buy.

As you roll your joint, you notice that something seems a bit off about the weed. You can't quite put your finger on it, but the way it breaks up doesn't feel right and there's an aroma you don't quite associate with bud. Still, you tell yourself, you're a bundle of nerves and probably just being paranoid.

You spark it up, take a couple of hits, and feel an almost immediate mellow. This is dynamite shit! You hope Adam saved this guy's number, because the man clearly takes pride in his work.

As you keep toking away, you start to notice some things that strike you as odd. The light has started to take on a strange new quality, and there's a numbness emanating from the bridge of your nose out across your face. This doesn't seem right, but you have to admit you've calmed down quite a bit. You take another hit. Rinse. Repeat.

By the time Kyle wanders in and finds you, things have gotten bad. You don't recognize him, those ominous shadows across his face twisting everything, and he shouts for help while struggling to hold you down. You're going for his throat, Kid, and I don't mean with your hands. Your snapping jaws click like castanets as it becomes quite apparent to everybody around you that, whatever you smoked, it wasn't just weed.

That shit was laced, and it's got you in a bad way. Whether you'll fully recover is hard to say, but for the foreseeable future your sanity, the hopes for a rally, and the fate of the revolution are at

The End

Try again?