Skittles

Going to parties where the host is a friend of a friend is extremely awkward. Since I can be quite the social anxieter I made sure to be armed with a handful of hallucinogenic pills that conveniently look like Skittles. Anyone in this town knows it's not hard to find drugs so I didn't have to search long for them. The only problem is you can never quite tell what you're getting is legit or will make you wake up in a pool of piss and vomit.

One of the mexicans from my part time job coherst me into this knew form of happy, and only told me its street name which does happen to be called Skittles ironically. I wasn't really sure what would happen or if the small neon bunches sold in a small plastic baggie were actually sour skittles but I took my chances.

Jon-Jon, my good pal from the restaurant thought it'd be a good idea if I checked my shit at home and finally got out of my single apartment. Considering I haven't shaved in two weeks or regularly bathed, I found an opportunity to do something motivating.

So I armed myself with these Skittle, finding it the perfect opportunity to try out my new recreational drug, and quite possibly become the man I used to be, before Kimber of course.

This party was way out in Burbank, far from my expectations and hopes. Anyone who lives out in those god forsaken suburbs must be in need for some company because as anyone in the city knows, it's far from anything exciting or fun.

We arrived about 11:00 p.m, early for party people, and were surprised to find some beer left in the tiny keg that definitely wouldn't suffice for the estimated guest list, so I sparred a party goer my beer and went to the bathroom with skittles in tact.

Staring into the mirror I watched as my handful of drugs became instant gratification. Usually most drugs made me paranoid and schizophrenic, but the wave of relief and pureness washed over me like a wave crashing onto the beach. I closed my eyes for a second and opened them on the beach. I wasn't quite sure what had happened or how I got there but I had done it. Skittles was like playing a mind trick on yourself. Whatever you wished, you'd get it.

While flying high in the bathroom I envisioned those moonless nights where Kimber and I often walked solo and barefoot through the chilling edges of the ocean. It was our favorite past time, because the rest of the world was tucked away in bed or packed in a crowded club. In that moment we were together and all the bull shit we fought about didn't matter.

To this day I still can't remember or explain how I got from the bathroom to that beach, but I can tell you it was a bitch finding my way home.