My Choice To Abuse Drugs
My Choice to Abuse Drugs
INTRODUCTION
A
Once upon a time, I and a friend of mine were sitting on a bench in typical public garden between some little blocks of flats, just outside the center of the city of Sofia. It had stopped raining about an hour before, luckily we had found a dry bench - sheltered from the rain by the branches of a chestnut tree - and were sharing a joint, wearily eyeing a bunch of old ladies that were sitting and staring into empty space on the other end of the garden. One never knows with old ladies. Until 1989 many of them had the habit of ratting on you to the secret police for saying jokes about the communist party, or listening to capitalist music, and such a habit dies not, but rather adapts to new realities – like a “war on drugs”. “Agents” is the street slang for such over-curious old folks, who stare at you from behind the curtains of their windows,
– “Watch it man, there’s an agent on third floor.”
– “Which one? Oh yeah, well, light a cigarette then, be natural.”
As the grass hit home, the colors got brighter as usual, the sounds of the city and the insects became more pronounced, the rate of heart-beats increased. On the wet ground below, many snails and slugs were wondering around in their slow motion dream, leaving glistening trails on the grass and cracked concrete. “Watch”, I said, and placed a “victory white” cigarette just in front of a snail. After a typical for stoner perception eternity, the snail had reached the cigarette and instead of just going over or around it, it stopped on top of it. Fifteen minutes later, three snails and one naked slug had joined into the party. Frozen, they sat stuck to the cigarette. “They are getting high”, my friend said, “yes”, I replied.
- “Could it be dangerous to them? Like poison or something?”
- “It certainly is poison for us, I don’t see why it shouldn’t be for them.”
- “So they may die soon after this cigarette?”
- “No idea, but they probably will die, or become...
View Full Essay