No solid crew
A few years ago me and my mate Grant headed to Ibiza. I was intent on a drugs marathon but Grant didn't partake so he had to put up with my drug-induced antics for a whole week. I kept hassling him to take something, but he wasn't having it. I got it in my mind that he should eat some gear; it would be 'good for him' so I thought. After repeatedly chanting ‘go on, eat some gear’ at him all day, he finally relented. I proceeded to burn a whole 8th of strong Moroccan gear, split it in two and offered him half with the assurance that ‘I would give my Nan that’. Grant reluctantly washed down the gear with Coke thus busting his drug cherry.
We went out for dinner and everything was going fine until we decided to head to a bar. Grant got this really dark look in his eyes and proceeded to shake his head, I was a bit worried and could feel the effects of the gear myself. Turns out it was some festival night and was the streets were full of people who all where, according to Grant, trying to stab and rob him. I knew this was going wrong so I decided to pull my hyperventilating/paranoid mate back to the hotel room.
Once back at the room he made me close the windows as he thought he was going to fall out of the room and was breathing really heavily whilst muttering darkness. Poor fella thought that this was the end. I was losing it myself big-time but managed to hold it together until he passed out. I was knackered by this time and fell into a trippy sleep only to be woken up by a punch in the back; I turned around and faced my mate with full-on evil eyes hyperventilating once again. I will never forget the physcotic look he gave me, pure evil. Luckily he quickly fell back to sleep.
And the good thing was……………… he was so relieved the next morning that it was over he wasn’t pissed off with me.
He stuck to lager after that though
(franks, Tue 20 Dec 2005, 21:38, Reply)