My day began pretty normal. Wake up, eat cereal, pull on jeans, call in sick to work and head to Dolo. Turns out my roommate (that lackluster ass-hat, dirty water, dick-lipped, anti-poon waste of sexual organs and air) decided to break up edibles in my cereal in hopes that I would eat it and then go to work super high.
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It worked, I was high. Really high. So high I could taste colors and touch emotions. Up was happiness and left was pink. But, unlike the joyful acceptance that comes from willingly doing drugs, un-willingly doing them is much different. I didn't know how I got high, which lead me to think I was having a stroke or that I had died and this was some weird limbo. Ultimately I decided that I was still dreaming. This was a mistake.
Accepting the fact that I was lucid dreaming, I got half naked and pissed myself while running down Guerrero street (don't judge me). I arrived at the park with a half eaten Mexi-pop and 1 can of PBR (if you know how I got these things please let me know and if I robbed a store, I'm sorry and I will repay you.) I saw you almost immediately and tried to make my move. You were beautiful. Eyes more beautiful than a tinfoil wrapped Cancun super burrito and skin graffitied like a side street mural. I would go vegan, fair-trade, local, organic for you. But, things didn't work out in my favor. As I approached to drop my finest pick-up lines, I tripped. I must have hit my head on a rock because I woke up in the grass facedown and you were gone. If you remember seeing a clumsy boy knock himself out, I'd love to take you to dinner at Gracias Madre. Also, if you know who went through my pockets while I was unconscious I would really appreciate that too. I'm missing an iPod filled with Celine Dion's greatest hits.
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