I drove down to Houston one afternoon for a court date.
Dropped acid at Numbers on Montrose and danced till midnight.
When I came out of the club, my truck was gone.
Figured it got towed so I dropped one more tab and went looking for it.
A security guard at a supermarket knew where the impound lot was.
He drove me to rescue it.
On the way, I dropped another hit of acid in his truck and this time, I mean I literally dropped/lost it on the floor board of his truck.
While searching for it, he asked me what I was looking for.
I said my shoes. I found them on my feet.
I never found the tab. Probably a good thing.
I had formation in five hours and I was three hours from Ft. Hood.
I made it but it wasn’t pretty.
Turns out we had a battalion run that morning.
Oops and ouch.
I wish I could say that was my last acid trip or bad decision.
It would be neither but those are stories for another day.
Just writing this makes me thirsty. Hydrate!
Nomad 