At first he thought he’d OD’d on vials of O, liquid heroin, drifting solitary into the ether; but this time was different. This time he was definitely awake. He could taste Absinth on his tongue. He could feel hot sticky leather beneath his skin. He looked down at his lap. His hand and clothing were all different, someone else’s. He felt between his legs and jumped out of his skin terrified as if possessed by a demon. It was only a flash but long enough to know it was not a dream. He threw the drugs away and wrestled with the experience all night breaking into a cold feverish sweat.
The door rang midday obliterating the silence knocking him conscious. He brushed last night’s fears to one side convinced it was merely a bad trip. An unassuming cute blond knocked on the door, Tara, masquerading as a chugger, plugging a charity for orphan children. He breathed a sigh of relief, things had returned back to normal. They sat in the lounge and he glugged a small measure of Southern Comfort into a lowball. “Sorry you don’t mind do you?”