2008-05-21 - 9:23 p.m.
The package arrived in the mail wrapped in plain brown paper with nothing on it save for my name and address, a stamp indicating that it had cleared Japanese Customs, and another stamp from its point of origin in Interzone, Alabama.
Later, a Wikipedia search will confirm my disbelief. There is no such place as Interzone, Alabama. (Which, of course, only makes how this package has appeared at my home that much more interesting.)
"By the way," the mailman asks me just before he turns to leave. "What are keeping in that box?"
He is referring to the cute wooden box that Shuhei and I have just outside the apartment door from which a truly terrible smell is emanating.
"Garbage," I say.
The mail man looks as though he doesn't know whether or not he should believe me. The box is much too cute to look like something the serves no purpose other than to hold garbage until the next appointed garbage day.
I open it up and let him take a look.
"Huh, garbage," he says and, his curiosity appearently satisfied, he walks away to continue the rest of the deliveries on his route.
I opened the package, as I always do, right away. Inside it was a blue cookie tin with a picture of Alice glued to the lid (the Tenniel version of Alice, not the Disney one). Speech bubbles decorating the side of the tin tell me to, in languages I do and don't recognize, Eat Me.
I'm now strongly of the opinion that this is the best mail I've ever received.
I open the cookie tin. Inside it is a little plastic baggy containing what appear to be mushrooms. Or rather, shrooms.
Though there's no point in doing so, I quickly scan the room. Something about suddenly having a secret makes me want to check and see if there's anybody around. I'm still alone.
I make a tiny hole in the bag and taste one of the crumbs that pop out. Unmistakably mushrooms.
Excellent.
I try to remember the last time that I was high, and can't. Strangely, considering how often I used to get myself stoned, I don't miss the drugs I no longer have access to at all except for, every now and then, the very drug that has so mysteriously come into my possession just now.
I'd like to shovel a handful into my mouth right away, but, just now, I can't exactly afford to spend the next five to eight hours high.
I stash the shrooms I'm-not-telling-where and wait until the time is right.
To Be Continued...
