Years ago, another lifetime. It was a warm spring Saturday, 1994, a southern state with a decrepit downtown on the verge of gentrification. Nestled in that urban wasteland was a jewel of an arthouse cinema, and that afternoon, they were screening 2001: A Space Odyssey.
So my friend and I embarked on an herbal space odyssey of our own, tied up our chuck taylors, and started wending our way through the humid sunlight.
About three blocks from the cinema, we were laughing and goofing around, and I’m trying to balance on a curb. Kept falling, kept trying.
From out of nowhere, a voice calls out, “STOP SWERVING!”
We freeze. We look around. There’s no one to be seen. But they know! Someone out there knows we’re in an altered state and we’re doing a terrible job of keeping it under wraps!
Giggling and guilty, we ran the rest of the way to the cool, dark theatre where we watched humanity unwind and rewind itself across space and time.
Crabaghast! 