“I think I’ve already been there and back!” he yelled.
“What do you mean?”
“Maaaan…I just smoked some of the friendliest buds I ever
smoked.” I was sure that “friendly buds” was a term he had just
picked up.
He pointed to what appeared to be two very dilated pupils, “And
check it out—someone gave me some magic mushrooms too. Hey,
man, thanks for dragging me here—all these hippies seem to dig me!
‘Later!” And flashing the peace sign, he spun off into the crowd
towards two overweight girls dancing in loose, tie-dyed dresses. They
encircled him with their warm, generous flesh. Like a Cheshire cat,
the last thing I saw before he disappeared was an enormous, greedy
smile.
CHAPTER 11
A few hours later Huge woke me up. It was dawn. We hoisted our
bags onto our backs and joined the stream of sleepy heathens
pouring off the boat. I couldn’t find Oscar, but I was sure he was
somewhere in the crowd and that I’d run into him later.
The rooms were a little pricey, so Huge and I agreed to share
one. As we set off down the beach toward the bungalow villages we
examined the beach. It was like Normandy after D-Day. Every thirty
yards a twisted young body lay strewn on the ground where it had
inadvertently given up the ghost the previous night. Some were just
waking up, holding their heavy heads like bowling balls. As we
walked close to one young Scandinavian-looking reveler lying face
down in the sand, he craned his neck to us and gave us the thumbs-
up sign.
“All right! Party! Samrin Island! Welcome! Yeah!” he yelled with
a tortured voice, and then collapsed again, face down in the sand. He
still clutched an empty beer bottle.
“This is like a war zone,” said Huge enthusiastically, “Enormous
casualties.”
“It doesn’t look very healthy,” I added.
“Fun is never healthy,” he countered, “Being healthy is not fun.
Joy is a controlled substance. Life is an addictive drug. The faster you
take it, the less you have. It’s all equal in the end.”
BIG AMERICAN BREAKFAST
80
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