VIII, cont. After the email I tried to figure out if I was tired or not—if I could fall asleep yet, or not. If I’d have had the weed, I would have smoked it and passed out, been late for work and not cared. If I had had the weed. I smoked my entire stash the week before leaving Montreal, because I didn’t want to risk taking it across the border.
In my mind I have this vivid dream of the drug bust. My drug bust. I see me with a balloon full of coke in my ass crack and a bag of grass in each shoe, looking suspicious at an airport customs. I’d be sweating bullets—just pouring down my forehead and soaking my boxer shorts around that irritating ass-crack balloon. It’d probably give me a rash, but I wouldn’t have time to think of that with the drug-dogs barking and tearing at my shoes, biting through the skin on my feet, scratching bone, and maybe severing a few bloody toes. And if the guards managed to hold the vicious canines back with their leather leashes and shock-collars, or maybe some futuristic dog-manacle, I’d still have a hard time explaining that sweaty balloon in my ass.
“No, sir, this isn’t cocaine. It’s powdered Ganju herb… why is it in my ass like that? Well, see, I’m an herbalist of the Sheiktoki order… you’ve never heard of us?… well, basically, sir, we don’t believe that herbs should be taken while cold—that they’re more effective warm—and furthermore that they should only be warmed by natural body heat. See, it has to do with the activation of the enzymes… yeah, I have a degree in Biology and I’m applying to grad schools looking for my masters in Herbology… yeah, in these days of rising prescription drug costs, people are seeking herbalists more and more often. I can get $50 per gram with normal ass-Ganju—the hotter the better. I figured if I stuck it up there for the entire plane ride, by the time I was back in my office, it would be worth twice that—but it has to be served fresh… what does it cure?… well, sir, I’m not officially allowed to say that it cures anything until it’s okayed by the FDA. Those bastards have been getting in our business for years—keeping us from being a legit practice…”
So I decided not to risk taking drugs across the border, and I think it was a good decision. And without the weed to pacify my spinning mind and whirling thoughts, I didn’t get to fall asleep that night. Instead, I walked over to my bookshelf and took out my tattered and worn copy of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Flipping through the post-it notes marking certain passages, I opened to my favorite and read it aloud:
“No, it was too much. The line between madness and masochism was already hazy; the time had come to pull back… to retire, hunker down, back off and ‘cop out,’ as it were. Why not? In every gig like this, there comes a time to either cut your losses or consolidate your winnings—whichever fits.”
