When you’re stoned, you realize: separate bodies, separate consciousnesses—that’s an illusion. There is only One. We were one with the bus stumbling up the mountainside. My nausea was one with Manisha’s. I wasn’t yet nauseous: not need-a-lime nauseous: but I felt Manisha’s nausea exactly as, soon, I’d feel my own. Soon? Already I was feeling it.… more
