We got to the park shortly after midnight. Each of us lit one up; I nearly hacked up a lung. Within a few minutes I lost the urge to communicate with anyone. The world and everything in it had turned to plasticine. It seemed as though even the leaves that once swayed in the breeze were rendered completely motionless until I physically jostled them. Everywhere I looked, dime-sized spiders and beetles were scurrying about. I dared not touch the clay-moulded trees for fear that the imaginary bugs would crawl onto me.
After what seemed like an eternity of wandering about the park, one other guy and I were completely overtaken with lethargy. Our veteran stoner friend wouldn't let us sit down, lest we "crash" in the middle of the park. Thus began the lengthly, arduous trek (nearly three minutes, I would reckon) back to said stoner friend's house. Over the next two hours, I thoroughly examined the ingredients on a box of microwaveable mini pizzas, masturbated in a dude's bathroom, and fell asleep on a couch by using about six pillows as a blanket of sorts. My breath still smelled weedy the following morning, so I had a glass of O.J. before my mom picked me up at noon.
Moral of the story: Marijuana definitely shouldn't be legal.
