First trip

On the third puff, I accidentally inhaled through my nostrils instead of my mouth. Time stood still. I felt blood surging in the twin capillary-filled orifices and the rush of an immediate dopamine buzz a hundred times stronger than even the strongest alcohol intoxication. The ensuing disconnect from reality and my senses were marked by a dampening self-contempt rather than euphoria.

What the hell was I doing on a secluded rooftop in Bugis with a plastic bag over my face and an aerosol canister of dissociative narcotics? 

That moment of sobriety passed into a blur of analgesia tainted with an overwhelming self-loathing. I don’t even remember passing out but when I did, it was tumble into a stupor of senseless dreams and blotches of confusion and lucidity. I awoke to the sound of laughter but I couldn’t force my eyes open. I remained in a pathetic state of sensory unconsciousness. I tried again to force my eyelids open and it then occurred to me that my eyelids had never been closed in the first place; my brain simply failed to register the images that I had been perceiving.

That very thought alone forced reality and consciousness back into focus. I was back on the pathetic rooftop, but still paralysed with an aural hallucination blasting in my ears.

A said I had been stoned for just over a minute with my eyes open (although it felt like an eternity to me).

B said I looked like a philosopher in a profound, transcendental day-dream.

C said he had never seen such a deep state of narcosis in all his past experiences.

D was doing tuck-jumps and expressed an earnest desire to leap to the rooftop across the street.

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