Yesterday someone sent me a book in the mail. It was John Grisham's, "The Chamber." The odd thing about the book was the large package with the fake return address. 39 Madison street, Brooklyn, New York. 39 Madison burned down to the ground when I was about 14 years old and has been abandoned ever since. The senders name was, Dica. No last name just Dica. I have never met a Dica in my entire life. When I presented the dilemma to Budd he said to,"stop looking into things so deeply. You've got a good book, so enjoy it." So that's what I did. And I must say, The Chamber is a well written piece of literature. That is until I dropped the book while lighting a cig. Fraction handed the book back up to me on my bunk and I flicked through trying to find the page I was on. That's when I noticed "it." It looked like someone had stuffed 10 single stamps deep into the spine of the the book. I removed the item and realized what "It" was instantly. 10 hits of acid. I showed Fraction what was hidden in the book and he was like, "Oh shit!" I've taken acid before and I tripped out really bad. I remember cleaning my house from top to bottom. I started at about 4pm and made it to the kitchen around 11pm. As I washed the dishes in the sink I kept washing this one glass over and over again. Finally my girl came into the kitchen and asked me what I was doing. I told her I washing the dishes. She bust out laughing and said, "you've been washing that same glass for 4o minutes." I told her there was a small piece of food on the glass that would not come off. She took the glass from me held it up to the light and said, "That's not a piece of food. It's a crack in the glass." I remember thinking, "this is not the high for me." I gave Fraction two of the hits to do what he wanted, but this weekend Budd and I are gonna fry.
