this is not a pipe

I'm driving to work. Well, my mate is driving me to work. I have been deemed a hazard by the Queensland Transport Authority. So these days the only way I get into a car is as a passenger. These are typically long drives, a daily commute from the Gold Coast to Brisbane. At least an hour. You do enough of these and eventually you run out of things to talk about. Well, I never run out of things to talk about, but there's something about long drives, heading in the opposite direction of where you'd like to be, that is incredibly depressing and depression has a funny way of rendering me mute.

I shake off the brain fog. We start talking about drugs. A new favourite topic of mine. Can't wait for my first acid trip. Ah yeah, TMI. He's giving me the run down on 'E', 'P', coke, heroin, and old reliable marijuana. We're debating the merits of Friday the movie, and the evaporation of Chris Tuckers career. We're speculating about an over-under on whether a cop, if given the option, would rather pull you up on a traffic violation or a drug possession offence. If you go to jail, it costs the system money, if you get caught speeding the system gets money. It's all about the Benjamins Baby.

After a few tangents we start on effects and the side effects of drugs. Back to weed again. It makes you lazy, forgetful, gives you the munchies and paranoia. I run the list through my brain, checking boxes. Hold up. I'm all those things. All the time. I eat like crazy, always worried about nothing, forever loosing my keys, or wandering into rooms and then wondering why I'm there, and my preference in life is to do as little as possible. I'm manifesting all the signs without even using. Can you imagine if I actually smoked the shit? I mention this in passing. This is the part where he's supposed pipe up and say something supportive like "Loz, no, you're not like that at all..." Instead he's like: "Yeah that sounds right." Cheers mate.