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The plain was measureless. Aside from offering the occasional visual cue in the form of a tarweed shrub or boulder, it held no real sense of distance or direction. Further, though Jared felt movement—the rhythmic plodding of his horse sent soft vibrations up through the saddle horn—there seemed a lack of forward inertia. The earth acted as if on a great axle that was slowly spinning in counterbalance to the horse’s hooves. As hooves punched into parched earth, dust gathered around the mount’s hindquarters, and from a distance it appeared as if the animal trod upon a low-flying cloud: the world’s first wingless Pegasus—in flight, yet bound by oppressive heat to the ranks of the lower atmosphere . . .
For our first date, we decided to drop acid on the Fourth of July, 1998 . . .
I was fine when I got on the road that morning—a little nervous, but I’d taken two Ativans. The pills were supposed to be strong enough to get me on the plane and all the way across the Midwest to LA. Not like last time . . .
I spend most of my time synthesizing chemicals and looking out the door to see if anyone is coming. I am naturally paranoid . . .
She wondered what his skin felt like. There was little of it to see, wrapped in all black like a Bedouin woman in the desert . . .
After the meal we headed back to the Groucho Club. We were a few drinks in now. We went upstairs and had some cocaine in the restroom . . .
I’ve maxed out my credit cards. I got fired. I only leave the house for organic food—and yoga . . .