The smell of wet roses was still strong in the living room. I looked over to the jar of that brown herb on the coffee table. Whatever it was, I knew that it had a strong effect. I pointed over to the jar. "That stuff there—what is that anyway?" I asked Harry.
He chuckled. "Oh man, Chuck. It's like freshman year all over again."
"Freshman year?"
"Yeah, of high school, you dope."
"Oh."
Harry took the jar and held it in his hand, twisted his wrist, and examined the herb. I could see a small scar by his thumb. "You, my friend, have access to the best shaka in the whole country right here. Grown straight from Winston County. Fumes so good it makes your whole body quake."
"Quake?"
"Yeah, you feel the world shake a little bit when you smoke it. But it's pretty mild stuff. Nice and pleasant. Always a good time. Wanna celebrate your entry back into reality with a hit?"
That made me nervous. It seemed that if this world weren't real, Harry—and probably most of the people in it—had no idea. Still, I didn't feel so inclined to believe myself just yet. Either way, I felt like it would help if I had something to take the edge off. I gave him a small nod.
"Alright then, I'll load you up a bowl," Harry said as he pinched some of it out of the jar and packed it into the pipe. The pipe itself looked rather dirty. There was a bunch of burnt herb and what looked to be some kind of resin in there. Harry loaded the pipe to the brim with the shaka, and handed me the pipe and that yellow lighter he got from Stu. "I guess if there's one good thing from your brain damage, it's that you get to experience the shaka shakes for the first time all over again," Harry grinned. I put the pipe to my mouth and lit the herb. A cloud of smoke formed in the pipe, and I inhaled. Immediately as the smoke hit the back of my throat, I began to cough loudly.
As I was coughing, my whole body began to feel airy, and it felt as if every hair on my body began to vibrate. I could almost hear my entire body hum. When I stopped coughing, I felt the quake Harry had described. He was right that it felt pleasant. Somehow, I felt less anxious and closer to something resembling peace. I saw a light purple vapor all over the room, as if the room was covered in some kind of transparent fog. I sat back on the couch and took it in for a moment. "Harry, is it normal for me to be seeing—purple?"
"Purple? What are you talking about, man?" Harry cocked his brow.
"I don't know. I just see this, like, light purple vapor all over the room."
"Are you sure it isn't the smoke you're seeing?"
"No, I see the smoke too. The purple vapor. It's, like, enveloped around the smoke. It's a totally separate thing."
Harry stroked his beard. "Yeah, that's trippy. Never quaked and saw purple before." He sat there for a moment and continued to stroke his beard in thought. "Must be because of that moon dust, man. Shit's probably still in your system. You feel alright, though?"
I took a deep breath and let out a long and slow exhale. "Best I've felt all day so far."
"Voluptuous vibrations, brother. Good stuff." Harry let out a light chuckle and sat back on the couch. "Man, I still can't believe you don't remember shit. That's gotta be something else."
"Yeah." I didn't want to spook Harry about certain details from the letter. I had a feeling that he'd probably just think it was delirious rambling, but I didn't want to take any chances. "Say, you know a place called Excelsior?"
Harry looked over at me. His eyes looked cloudy. It was a clear case of the shaka shakes, it seemed. "Well, you knew it better than me. That's your spot, man."
"My spot? Like I own it?"
"You basically should at this point with how much you go there," Harry replied, eyes still cloudy. "You're there almost every day at this point. They always give me free drinks when I show up with your crazy ass."
"Free drinks? Like you get them or I get them or—"
"Oh, right, brain damage," Harry said. "It's a pretty happening bar downtown. All Knights of the Round Table themed and shit. They even got this big plastic prop of the sword in the stone and whatnot. People love taking pictures with that stupid thing."
A bar. That sounded like the exact place an idiot with a drug problem would spend most of his days at.
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