Gert-Jan entered the house without knocking or thinking, as per his habit. The stereo was pumping out the big happy beats and eclectic melodies of the Happy Mondays. On the telly were the Pacers at the Sonics and Victor was hoping that Seattle would make them look as silly as they were. Payton and Kemp could make them look stoopid if they were both on.

Gert-Jan walked in without knocking…

"Hey Victor, let's get high. Ever notice that airports are getting more and more Kafka-esque every year. I mean you can't smoke, you can't make gun jokes when the metal detector goes off, the beer tastes like Perrier, and you can't get a moment's peace. Anyway, I brought some hash. What have you got in your bag of tricks?"

"No. Man I quit drugs. All drugs. Even ecstasy."

"What? Are you serious?"

"Yeah Man, you see, I saw this commercial about a week ago where a fourteen year old girl inhales a puff of smoke and turns into an asp."

"What the fuck are you talking about, Vic?"

"I live in America. I can't do drugs. Drugs are illegal here. If I do drugs I might not turn into a good little taxpayer. They might have to single me out and arrest me for exhibiting "Class X" behavior. Then they would put me in a room full of doctors and they would take turns putting their winkies up my bum. I remember the first time a doctor put his finger up my bum and I really liked it. Kind of hated it when he took it out. By the time I was 13 I was blowing him for a 20-dollar bill while my mom was outside. But drugs, no, I can't have them. It's immoral or immature or something. And what's more, it's expensive. What if I couldn't afford to go to the mall and buy new Nike sporting gear every season like I'm supposed to? I might have to show some freaking imagination in dressing myself without my seventy-four dollars and ninety-nine cent Nike sweatpants that I don't even deserve to wear because I never sweat except when I abuse myself with the automatic dishwasher..."

More and more of this garbage spouts from Victor's mouth and Gert-Jan takes brick of hash out of his toiletry bag nearly the size of a bar of soap.

"How'd you get that baby through customs?" inquired Victor, now dropping his I-AM-AMERICAN-AS-FUCK attitude.

"Easy, I put it in someone elses bag" replied Gert-Jan.

"Nice one, how'd you manage?"

"I met this Italian bird who said she had diplomatic immunity in America. And she told me she would do it if I cut her off a slice. I ended up fucking her in the toilets as well. I love Italian chicks the best. They beat all others in promiscuity. All you have to do is ask them politely. Italian men are the quickest lovers in the world. Female orgasm is an annoyance like PMS. "

Victor grinned and laughed as he licked the paper and completed the rolling process. Victor's eyes were now forcibly bloodshot and open only to a slit. He was dressed in black bell bottom jeans and a red and black striped shirt that looked like it had once been on a prisoner in Eastern Germany but then over-dyed and sold for 15 US dollars to stupid slacker American tourists when the wall came down, which it had, only two years previous.

He palpitated when he spoke, and he had a half-finished cigarette in his left hand, which he occasionally raised to his lips to drag on forcibly, like it was the cigarette that contained the oxygen he needed and not the air around him.

"So you're back in Indiana, eh?"

"Yeah, Sarah swindled all these people at a party in Seattle. Things were pretty out of hand. It eventually led to our break-up."

"Oh yeah, that's not so bad man. I battled Satan for my sanity in Amsterdam and lost."

"No, I'm serious. I had to leave Seattle. Otherwise I wouldn't be in this stupid state. I have to wait

until things cool down."

"It was really scary, battling Satan. It was like a video game, only real. I kept thinking, "No way man, Satan really does have horns. I mean, I think..."

"Whatever. I thought Sarah was going to jail for a long time. They had her in custody and shit. They let her out and now she got scared and jumped bail.

"You are not being serious?"

"Yeah. Sarah is in fucking British Colombia with the rest of the loonies where she belongs. She was going to take this keg of acid-spiked punch to a rave and sell it for like five dollars a cup.

Somehow the punch got switched with the one that she was taking to her softball team that she coaches for community service hours for her cocaine bust.

The ravers thought she was trying to hustle them and the parents of the kids seriously wanted to kill her (and me). Funny thing is I somehow got the acid too.

I had this mega-strange trip man with smelly creatures who were half human and half sloth. It reminded me of my Amsterdam days on 2CB derivatives. Had a bit too much myself. The terrible thing is man she won't go down. She insisted she didn't do it. She claims she was on a heroin binge at the time and can't remember anything at all."

"Didn't they blame you?"

"I got really lucky. I thought they were gonna try to blame me, but I didn't do anything criminal. Just because I fuck the chick doesn't mean I have anything to do with her drug problems, eh? I even tried the punch after the fact because I thought there might be 2CB in it and not acid.

Strongest acid ever. I tripped balls man. B-A-L-L-S.

Must have had a whole batch in it...

But then I remember she said something about water for the rave, so I just naturally thought that was that. It's weird man because I knew I was tripping out and I knew it was too strong to be a flashback and that I was gonna trip out real hard and that it was gonna suck."

"Did the candy ravers start freaking out."

"They mostly thought it was cool, you know. But man was it ugly for the square little wanna-groovers."

"And the parents?"

"The parents were none too pleased. They are still looking for the perpetrator and I know they suspect Sarah and I because of her sordid past. She was, after all, the one who dosed her high school graduation and the swim team that one time."

"Nothing like the comfort of being 1,500 miles away from that ugly scene. Sooner or later they’ll find out who did it and I can go back."

"Yeah, it's hard to believe that Evansville and Seattle are both in the same fucking country. It's so lifeless here. I feel like I’m in Purgatory."

Gert-Jan was now waiving his hash and tobacco Dutch joint in front of Victor's face as if attempting to hypnotize him with it.

"You can't make me smoke that thing, you know?" Victor announced as he let a smile crack on his lips. He then walked over to the ashtray and crushed out his cigarette.

"Shut up and light the damn thing- freak!" demanded Gert-Jan. "I leave you alone for six months and I find you smelling funny and telling me ghost stories."

There was silence and a slight confusion. Victor thought he needed to change his deodorant or at least start wear some. Body odor, ugh! Why hadn't anyone told him sooner?

Victor waived his hands and screamed "Miller Time!" as he caught the now perfectly rolled Dutch style reefer with his left hand.

"What?" asked Gert-Jan having no idea what to make of all these strange displays Victor was making. He thought it probably the fact he had been reading too much Schopenhauer or else Indiana had driven him insane.

"Oh, it's nothing really", Victor stated in a more calm manner.

"What's nothing really?" questioned Gert-Jan, as he motioned for the joint.

"It's very simple. The lady at the Circle K explained it to me. You can't leave town and then come back. You can't ever go backwards in life. It'll mean your death."

"You mean to tell me that I just traveled 6000 to come see you and you don't have anything better to tell me than that? Jesus, what a shame. I should have visited Michael first. He at least might have had some coke or something."

"Michael who?"

"Never mind. Where's the fucking booze man? You know I can't stand being in this country without being on a couple different drugs at once."

Victor smiled and threw Gert-Jan a can of Miller.

"The fuck is this shite? I hate fucking American piss", sneered Gert-Jan, "By the way, where's Sarah?"

"I told you! Sarah's chilling out in Vancouver with her junkie friends."

"Oh."

"She was the perfect mate for me you know."

"She's just a stupid cunt like the others..."

"She's our sister, you know," Victor replied with a face of total seriousness.

"Yeah, I know you have a thing for sisters. Admit it, you can't sleep with someone unless you have called her your ‘sister’ first, eh?"

"Toss off, you. Donna's no prize either. She's just a leech off your parent's money. If you went broke she'd be out the door so fast... oh why even bother with women. Did I ever tell you my afterlife theory?"

"My parent’s are dead, Victor."

"So I heard. I couldn’t come over, you know. I was busy going mental again. Sometimes it scares me how loopy I can get and still come all the way back."

"Some other time, Vic", said Gert-Jan as he raised the can to his lips and swallowed it.

"UUEERRGH! Why are we drinking this stuff again?"

"Because I couldn't get real alcohol."

"Why?"

"Liquor store closes at like 7 PM."

"You're 24 years old! Can't you plan 4 hours ahead?"

"No, you hate Jim Beam and creme soda anyway."

"In my perception you have total bollocks taste in alcohol."

"Speaking from a philosopher's standpoint, perception is reality, and in my perception, we are going to have to drink this beer like a couple of morons", Victor said before toking forcefully on the joint.

"Do you want to go to a bar or something?" offered Gert-Jan.

"You can't get any better beer there. And have you ever been to a bar in Evansville?" Victor answered with a healthy dose of disdain.

"No. I'm tired anyway. I'd just as soon get wasted here tonight anyway."

Thus ending the conversation on the lack of beer, our two young heroes commenced to get really high and drink cheap beer and listen to CDs. They spent the rest of the evening reveling in past stories of decadence in Colorado and Europe and hugged and kissed each other affectionately as they danced around to old techno songs they used to trip to on ecstasy.