Ever got that feeling when you wait for something? You wait hour upon hour in one place among what seems like nothingness; just pure, typical, nothingness. So, you do those little things that annoy everyone else, like pick stickers off things, or make popping sounds with your mouth. As you expect from this theme park of fun, things soon began to get…edgy with my companion and I. It was two days of waiting – and Lord knows it’s a barrel of laughs just waiting. We just asked obvious rhetorical questions that we felt needed an obvious answer. ‘When will it arrive?’ ‘Now.’ That easy. The clock kept a constant reminder that was all the more patronising: ‘only ten minutes away, kiddies’. It didn’t have to be able to talk, because I could see its demeaning wink from the glass case, with the sun reflecting a hideous white light off it. And after the regular aide memoire from Mr. Clockface, anxious thinking became the catalyst that drove you mad with each cigarette – nothing worse than having to think whilst smoking. When finally, these two days were up and when the door rang and Reservoir Dogs finished for the tenth time – right on cue – that feeling of anxiety plummeted to the depth of my stomach, and stayed there. Four ounces of fresh Philippine Mushrooms scattered along the kitchen table, all carefully weighed and packed. We shared them amongst ourselves and cautiously kept them close to our chests. After they were late, we had to abandon the idea of taking them at a friend's house, although luckily we had another venue to indulge at. We grabbed the stuff in a plastic bag, five each, and carried them to the house. Every time I walk the streets while carrying stuff, I get bad paranoia. What if some random guy walks past with his Alsatian, which happens to be a sniffer dog? I’ve already had one police-encounter, and I really didn’t want another. We marched along the icy pavement and heavily exhaled the cold mist, and our dignity with it. I began scatting through grinding teeth to warm myself from the cold and utter complaints, ‘Why the bloody hell couldn’t we have drove up here?’ They frowned and avoided eye contact, but the silent answer told me not to ask again. Either nobody thought about it, or there was some other reason that hadn’t been explained. Our heads in our necks, and our hands under our jackets, we lugged the punnets of mushrooms up a surprisingly steep hill, conspicuously wary, and paranoid of usual things. We finally got to the place, and I kissed my friend, that I’ve always had a…thing for, on the cheek as we entered her house. We unload our stuff in her kitchen and then begin making the tea quickly, but the tea isn’t going to be the problem, everything else is. Goodbye Logic, see you soon. Three hours into the trip and things soon became obscured by our own senses. Joe, a friend of mine, sits down and rests his elbow on the table. He’s gay, but his flamboyant character only precedes him when drunk, or, like now, when drugged. He leans forward and drops his head into his upright hand as he crosses his legs, while he gently places his other arm on the back of the chair, ‘This isn’t right. Walls are supposed to be solid!’ We watch attentively at each other and I reassure him they are, while scoffing at his child-like behaviour. ‘Oooooh, I know that,’ he chuckles and flicks his hand at me, ‘but these walls are like water. As if I can see straight through them,’ I stare blankly and begin rubbing my hands and face. I pad my fingers on my palms, and feel a wet, almost clammy, feeling. I can swear my hands and face are wet. Not drenched, but almost silky to the touch. I brush my arm and smear what I think is sweat along it. My sleeve lightly rests atop my arm hairs, with a smooth and glossy touch creating a sharp tickle. I quickly scram at it as my bolted eyes look forward while blinking and twitching. I click my neck and twist it around, while quietly humming to myself as I continue scratching and gazing. What Joe had said soon became but a distant yesterday-thought, and my surroundings begin to distort around me, and almost halt to a slow stop. Of course, I was still aware of my surroundings, but there seemed like a certain Kafkaesque ambience surrounding me.