Different Circles

Matt watched them go, shaking his head. Imagine, paying for your pussy, he thought, when there’s so much of it available for free. He just didn’t understand some people. He turned and started walking back toward the hotel. On the way, he opened up the cardboard box and pulled out one of the brownies. He ate the entire thing, going on the theory that the little Dutch girl was considerably smaller than him and undoubtedly did not use the ganja as much as him, and that starting with a half a brownie was unnecessary caution. The treat was actually pretty tasty. It was a rich, dark chocolate with a pleasing texture and just a hint of underlying marijuana taste. And there was no grit at all.

He carried his purchases up to his suite and set them on one of the tables. He then headed downstairs to the bar to check out the local gash. He parked himself at the bar and drank two Jack and cokes, just enough to start a buzz going. Though there were a moderate number of females in the bar, he didn’t see any that met his minimum standards of what he wanted to rail. A bummer. Maybe the pickings would be a little better after dinner. They did not have a show tonight—their first of two Rotterdam dates was tomorrow night—and he really wanted to score some Dutch gash so he could compare it to the Belgian gash he’d had the night before.

He went back up to his room and turned on the television set. He flipped through the channels a bit, finding that many of the broadcasts were in Dutch or French, but a few were in English. He finally settled on a rerun of Cheers that was dubbed in French and subtitled in Dutch. He figured that it might be kind of trippy when the brownie he ate finally kicked in.

And speaking of that. He looked at the clock on the wall and figured that it had been well over an hour now since he had eaten that brownie and he still did not feel anything but the fading remnants of the high he had acquired by smoking in the hash bar. Did that bitch rip me off? he wondered. Sold me some regular brownie that didn’t have any good shit in it?

He got up and opened the cardboard box again. He pulled out another of the brownies and quickly ate it. There. Let’s see what that does. And if it doesn’t do anything, I’m going back to that hash bar tomorrow and having a word with that bitch.

He went to the bar and mixed himself another Jack and coke. He then sat down and started watching the foreign broadcast of Cheers again. It was the one where Carla bought a house that was reputed to be haunted and Cliff stayed the night with her.

When the brownie finally kicked in ninety-three minutes after he had eaten the first one, it did not do so gradually. It hit like a freight train: hard, fast, overwhelming. One moment he was feeling nothing but a mild alcohol buzz, and the next he was completely and thoroughly obliterated, about as stoned as he had ever been in his life (which was remarkable considering the fact that he had literally smoked well over twenty pounds of the stuff since he had taken his first toke at the age of thirteen). It was an intense head high, bordering on uncomfortable. His limbs felt like they were numb and buzzing. Time seemed to slow down to the point where he could mark and measure each passing nanosecond.

“Whooaaa,” he said slowly, thickly. “This is some heavy-duty shit!”

He settled in and tried to get his mind to enjoy the experience. For the most part, he succeeded. It had been many years since he had tried something new on the drug use horizon and that, in and of itself, was pleasurable to him. And his suspicion that the French spoken, Dutch captioned episode of Cheers would be enjoyable turned out to be correct. It seemed like the episode took forever and he thoroughly got into it. Even the commercials were fascinating.

This shit is all right, he thought with a big smile on his face. Very heavy. Don’t think I would want to be any higher than this, but as long as it maintains at this level ... And then something occurred to him. He had eaten two of the brownies, not just one. The second one had not kicked in yet.

Oh man, he thought, feeling nervousness and anxiety pushing its way through the wall of deep euphoria. I think I’m in for a ride here.