06-15-2309
On the third day, Saturday, I woke up staring at Leona again. This time I had rested much better, little white earplugs nestled deep enough to drown out the snoring coming from behind me. Lethargically we rose, groggy as we retreated from the hot morning sun, stumbling to the car as soon as we got up, starting the day off much alike the way we‘d ended the last–with beer, weed and AC.
We probably lounged inside for an hour or so before making our way to get some fresh water and wash up. We came back to smoke a little more, making some makeshift shade out of my tapestry and some duct tape. We got a little something on our stomachs as we hung out there, a few friends of theirs from Ithaki stopping by to say hello before going to get their drink on.
Still early in the morning, we heard music playing from the main stage, so we prepared what we’d need for the day, mostly the same as yesterday without the raingear, and headed over as quickly as possible. I also dragged Eon’s bag along with me this time, since I knew I’d have to do it eventually. I’d be bringing it home with me in Zech’s crawler anyway, and we could use another seat for a day or two.
They walked into the camp the same time we did, getting back from the Margarita Jim show that was put on secretly this morning. I knew he’d been added to the lineup last minute, but had no idea when he was supposed to go on. They had only heard of it when they were out getting breakfast, so they went to it unprepared. I wished I could have gone, again not a big fan but my dad is, so Zech and I would have known most of the word at least.
When they arrived they carried handfuls of confectionary delights to share with everyone. I looked down at the bloody mary I had in my hand and felt tickled at how wholesome my breakfast was today. Minkus raised a cup of tomato juice and vodka he’d got at the same stand to me in a toast.
“Nice. Breakfast of champions, my friend,” he said, taking a side on the behemoth‘s tail.
“I really like that I haven’t eaten anything today that didn’t contain weed,” Rip said with a big smile.
“If only every day could be like this,” Zech said, contemplating a life with edibles available all the time.
“It could be if you moved to Mars; it’s so legal there that it’s kinda scary,” I said, ever excited at the thought of buying it from a convenience store one day.
“We all know, that’s why we hate you,” Zech said, finishing his first cookie and taking a huge bite of the second while still glaring at me.
“What’s with the suitcase?” Rip asked, part of him hoping there would be drugs within.
“It’s Eon’s. She left all her stuff in NA when she moved back to Earth, so I got to drag it halfway across the solar system for her,” I said, sitting down on it heavily, spiteful to its contents.
“Ok…why would you do that for her after what she did?” he asked, always aghast at the stupid things men do for women.
“She’s paying me.”
“Oh, that’s legit,” he said, sitting down on the cooler next to me and retrieving his box of goodies from his backpack.
“Hey, I just ran into Eon,” Eli said, lighting himself a cigarette from a crushed pack. “I saw her, like, 10 days ago, or something,” he estimated, his eyes glazing over in memory.
“Oh, yeah? How is she?” I asked on impulse, just to small talk a bit. I really didn’t care about her well being, but I felt like I hadn’t spoken to Eli much this trip and wanted to chat. Ok, well maybe I was trying to figure out if she was still staying out of trouble, or if moving to Earth hadn’t helped her at all.
“She’s doing real well, man. I think, I don’t know, I can’t really remember what we talked about. I think she’s working at the mall again, or something,” he was beginning to get lost in his head.
“Knock, Knock?” Rip asked randomly right before he took a hit of the freshly packed bowl.
“Who’s there.” Minkus said quickly, holding out his hands to receive it from him.
“Hey, what? I’m sitting to the left of him, it should go to me,” I said, feeling confused and slighted.
“Yeah, but Mink said ‘Who’s there’ It’s kinda like a game, only someone sober enough to pay attention gets the second hit, then the rotation goes from there that round,” my brother kindly explained to me. I still felt gypped, but I shrugged, resolving to win the next time we played.
“So what are we going to see today?” Brick asked, glancing at the schedule for Saturday.
“Well the really important ones to see today are Cali Stripclub, Februraresque and GOVT, and those are all really late. Everything else today is pretty good, but I’m not so desperate to see anything in particular,” Rip assessed the day for us.
“Doesn’t The Boss headline tonight?” I asked, everyone around me flinching a little at the sound of his name. “What are we going to do during that?”
“Come back here and get high?” Minkus said? “Find ear plugs and get high?” “Either of those work for me,” I said chuckling. “I just wish we had something fun to take for Cali Stripclub,” I began muttering to myself without thinking.
My prayers were answered when moments later, out of nowhere, a heavy-lidded earth girl burst into our camp, necklaces and dreadlocks flailing about as she landed on to feet. She held in front of her a giant bag filled with tiny red and white pills as she shouted “Mmmescaliine!!”
We were simultaneously frightened and ecstatic; we didn’t know how to respond exactly. “What, yes! How much?” we seemed to each say, everyone reaching for their wallets at the same time.
“These are each 20,” she began to explain. “There isn’t much of this stuff around this year, so it’s going like mad. How much do you need, she asked, taking a count of raised hands, everyone but Leona, before trading a handful of capsules for a handful of money.
“Tell me, what’s this like, I’ve never done it,” Minkus requested, inspecting his pill, the only person who seemed nervous or at least curious.
“Well pure mescaline extract, like you’d get from a cactus, is like really intense, it makes your whole body feel weird and since it’s a purgative, it usually it makes you through up,” she started, watching Minkus tense up at the thought. “But this stuff is synthetic; it’s a lot mellower than what you’d expect from a psychedelic. It’s actually a lot like acid and molly at the same time,” she said, which seemed to illicit a sigh of confirmation from the party.
“Oh that’s perfect, that’s exactly what I’m looking for,” I said. She smiled; glad to find people who would really appreciate it.
“Is it anything like 2C-I or 2C-B?” Rip asked, obviously the expert here.
“I’d say it’s more like 2C-I, man. It will come in waves, too,” she said, stowing away the hundred-twenty dollars she just made. “Pleasure doing business with you guys, enjoy the gorkin’ show!” she yelled, disappearing as quickly as she came.
“Well this changes everything, doesn’t it?” Minkus asked Rip.
“Yeah, it does a bit. Well we’re gonna need a good half hour to let it kick in. You guys wanna just take them, like, 30 minutes before Cali Stripclub begins?” He suggested, looking at the schedule again.
“Yeah, that seems good, and we can just watch some of the end of Roger, Roger until it’s time to head over there, I know Klay mentioned them a few times on the way here,” Brick said, confirming with his schedule.
“Alright, so we can totes just go our own ways for now as long as we meet up back here in time to dose up,” he checked the time on his phone.
“Sounds good to me,” Brick began to put the schedule card away in his pocket, glancing at the little bit of green left in his pocket. “Today would be perfect if we had more of the good nug.”
“Heads! I got your dank right here!” a large man with a backpack was soliciting as he walked nearby. Everyone looked at him, then at Brick in wonder.
“This is just getting too trippy,” Minkus said, checking his shirt pocket to make sure he didn’t swallow his pill without thinking.
The day was shaping out perfectly, and so we set out for the arch, all seven of us together when we began. We managed to lose Zech somewhere before even getting to the end of line. He knew how to handle himself though, and he likely would have split the second we got inside, anyway. Minkus and Rip did, peeling off to leave Eli, Leona, Brick and I to watch Rod i Gabri.
The duo from Mars or some other Ionian world were masters each at the classical guitar. It was a great way to start the day, an event of true musicianship, the kind of thing you travel thousands of miles to see at a festival like this. The only musicians in the entire band, many songs would have Gabri playing her guitar like a bass while Rod played lead. Another featured a drum solo, her knuckles wrapping wildly against the hollow wooden body of the guitar while she slapped at the strings between beats. I was impressed, and when we had our fill we began to wander.
Gozo and Grambel were probably either at Kiley Jenis still, or they had moved on to Of Terranto by now, I couldn’t be sure. Brick and Eli wanted to see Executive Oxon, so we hung out a while at Which Stage to watch them. A solid, southern rock performance that proved more entertaining than I expected. They even had a girl from one of the other bands come on to sing with them as they covered some classic old songs, which were surprisingly well done, given how much I don’t like The Nocturnals. Before not too long at all, it was about time for us to head back to the camp.
We found Zech shortly before it was time to take our mescaline. He was passed out in the tent, where he’d apparently been most of the day since we became separated, all the cannabis food he ate hitting him at once with debilitating force. He wouldn’t budge as we tried to rouse him, so we shrugged and let him be, zipping the tent back up at Rip and Minkus walked up, eager to get started.
“Alright, here you each go,” Rip said, happy to be distributing them. He found he had one pill left over and asked “is Zech not taking his?”
“Yeah, he’s passed out right now, I tried waking him, but he’d probably be too tired to enjoy it even if he would get up,” I reasoned. He shrugged and closed up the container, slipping it into his box. “Hey, you haven’t taken one yet,” I reminded him.
“Oh, I’m not. I already know what 2C-I’s like. I did it, like, every day one summer. I sold my mescaline for 25, just in case something else interesting popped up, or we need more weed or gas,” he explained, a noble choice I wouldn’t have expected him to make, especially considering how excited he had been when we got them.
“That way he can babysit us too, if we so need a sober person,” Minkus added, obviously having discussed it with Rip beforehand.
“Alright then, I actually kind of safer that way. Uhh, bottoms up, guys?” I said, raising the tiny pill pinched between my fingers, everyone followed in suit and we swallowed them at approximately 5 pm.
“You do too much for your friends!” The voice of a desperate woman cried off in the background. Rip appeared, catching up with us after leaving the campsite. “Someone on tranq just tried to sell me some,” he said, proudly.
“And you got it?” I asked, assuming that’s what his tone implied, and preparing my mind for the idea of a new drug.
“Wha–no. No, in fact, I didn’t do it. The way she got all offended that I didn’t want to, made it seem so much less appealing.”
“Yeah, she made an awfully poor poster for the substance, then,” I said, summing up his reasoning well enough to receive a nod from him.
We waited in line again at security, the time slowly ticking away each minute we remained behind a hundred hippies, nervous about what they’ve stashed in their shoes and crotches. I was more nervous about the sky melting away, or the feeling in my fingertips being replaced by fuzzy prickles, or any of a dozen other imaginative concerns worry you after you’ve ingested an unfamiliar psychotropic substance. Purely standard operating procedure.
Though it seemed like it had been doing something to my head since the moment I swallowed the little capsule, I can safely say that it actually kicked in as we approached the main stage to see Roger, Roger. A band from Earth that’s been around for a while, I had no idea they were as old as they looked, they have a very young voice and style. I was delighted to hear they were the same, if not better than their recorded material; crisp, clean, and so well polished.
It made a pleasant atmosphere for the onset of the mescaline. Slowly everything in my peripherals became brighter and moved about incomprehensibly, dodging perception by the time you turned to look at it. I could feel a strange weight come to rest on my shoulders, and a weird, cramp lurch across my stomach suddenly, as if I had just been ensnared in a trap. We bailed before the end of their show, wobbling along as Rip and Leona herded the four of us to Which Stage.
We arrived right as The Cali Stripclub began to play their incendiary introduction, setting up by a line of trees in the middle of what would be the first mezzanine. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen them, or the first time I’d seen them at Bonnaroo. The cataclysmic psychedelic band, which blended a sharp and imaginative orchestration with a kind of sideshow attraction macabre, had been a favorite of mine for a long time, the reason I came here four years ago, and the only band I watched when I did that. I was on shrooms and acid that time; you picture it.
At the present time they had been given a much smaller slot to play in, but this only encouraged the Lunarian band to perform at almost twice the normal tempo, just to squeeze in everything the crowd needed to hear. The world that swayed and pitched violently around me heaved into fast-forward all of a sudden, like some eccentric magic carpet ride. Though the pace boggled the human mind, the singer, the drummer and the guitarist, who was the musical brains behind the band, never became unsynced in the audio melee. I, for one, had an amazing time.
So amazing that it only made the close of their show and the slog over to the main stage at sunset so much worse–especially when it was to watch The Boss and the C Street Band. The man, who really should have been washed up by now, had long been the poster boy for Earth, believed to represent it and all freedom that this nation offers. He may as well have written the national anthem as far as his generation was concerned, but that was the last one. Ours, a younger and, I’d hope to think, more sophisticated crowd, had no real connection to the man, other than bits of songs we’d heard on the radio growing up, which our parents probably became fed up with and changed half way through anyway.
I could see the appeal though, maybe only cause it takes cactus juice to do it, but I could understand why people liked him. He was a charismatic and powerful individual, one whom I couldn’t help but imagine leading some actual great cause, though now he was just playing with a dumb rock and roll band. I thought to myself ‘He should just fight our wars!’ not sure whether I liked it more because it would work, of if it didn’t we’d be rid of another worthless famous people.
Speaking of worthless famous people, as the novelty of the Earths patriot wore off, like some cheap spell they pumped into the air to enchant us for a while when the music began, I finally noticed the other members of his band. The guitarist looked just like that annoying old redheaded woman who thinks she deserves to be famous, the large bassist looked like the purple guy from the zombie movies and electronics commercials, hell, the drummer was the one from that late night talkshow; it was The Boss and the D-List Celebrity Band.
After the fourth song he brought the mood down and began to talk to the audience. We didn’t even make it through a single sentence before we began to pack up our stuff, it couldn’t matter what he was going to say.
“How’s everyone doing here at The Bonnaroo?!” he asked excitedly, his eyes wide from being high on being himself. “How’s everyone doing tonight? You know, tonight, folks, I know you thought you were going to go to a concert, but instead you came here to build a house,” he explained to us, very confused and still on enough drugs to interpret the moment with too much meaning for what he’s trying to get across.
“Really? A house?” I asked.
“Hey guys, we’re building a house,” Minkus stated informatively, as if trying to get everyone to pay attention himself.
“I wish I’d have known, I did not come prepared for this,” Brick said like a comedian, too. Mescaline seemed to make us think we were funny.
“Ugh, I’m so not down,” Rip sighed, packing his blanket into his pack.
“Let’s make like a fetus and head out,” Eli said for the fourth time today.
Some of the most unique music I heard was on the walk out of Centeroo. As if in protest or just contrast, the world outside the gates as alive as it had ever been. Excited and ecstatic individuals bounded about in the lanes, stoked that they had made the right choice for leaving behind that disgraceful salty shell of a man to wither on stage. The belly dancers and fire blowers were amuck, instrumentalists and censer bearers drawing in the crowds they didn’t wrangle. Men dressed in nothing but neon filament, glowing cords and self illuminating fabrics gallivanted by, along with women wearing nothing but a coat of paint and inlaid jewelry over their bodies.
If the price was right, you too could experience the event as any of the aforementioned characters, simply stop by a glow hut or a breast painting stand, or get your own instrument to fill the air, or join the harem for a while. You can do anything you want here if you have enough money, even purchase whatever feeling you wanted to from a passing salesman.
It’s like the Earthling Dream’s field day in this secluded paradise. By paying the expensive price for the ticket, you’re guaranteed a world of opportunity not afforded to those outside the event’s confines. And in this safe microcosm, this controlled experiment of epic proportions, all is permitted–and it still doesn’t crumble apart from the inside.
We were gonna wait out the next few hours of nonsense at the main camp, smoking and getting something to eat, but Leona needed to grab a few things from our camp, so I walked with her to keep her company. Also, I was coming down on mescaline at this point, and I felt like having a deep conversation in my introspective state.
“So what’s it like on Epimetheus? How is it different than here?” I asked, curious about the moon of Saturn that she’d stayed on last year.
“Here, like, Bonnaroo?” she asked, feeling like that would be a really easy question to answer as someone walked by offering some sort of pills.
“Hahaha, no. No, sorry; I meant here as in Earth,” I corrected.
“Oh..hmm,” she thought about it briefly, wondering herself what the biggest difference was for a moment. “It’s not all that different. I mean, people like the same things and they have the same complaints and struggles in their day to day lives. I was in the capital, too, though,” she clarified.
“Ah, I see,” I searched for another question, any question. I’d never been particularly interested in Epimetheus, especially compared to some of Saturn’s other moons, but talking about anyplace outside of the inner systems was worth while to me. “What was it like being the only Earthling on a planet of Dionians,” I asked.
“I wasn’t the only one there,” she said, knowing well I knew that, “But white people were few and far between either way. It was kinda neat though, anyone you saw that had the same color skin as you, you know you could probably strike up a conversation and make friends with. Otherwise it was actually weird cause they treated me like a sort of celebrity,” she started to explain.
“How do you mean?” “Well, you know… Cute white girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, wearing their clothes and eating their food and living life as one of them efficiently, kind of drew their attention more than you would expect. Maybe more than if I stood out like a tourist, maybe not; I’m not sure. But one time I was having a coffee, and looked up to like 50 men staring at me. Another time I was walking back to my home and I was followed by like 200 guys, some even taking pictures. It was crazy!”
“Gork, it sounds like it. That’s pretty cool though, not your typical reaction around here. I doubt I could go to any world were I’d get such a reaction, but I’d still like to travel plenty in my life,” I said.
“Yeah, I would suggest it. Something about seeing the world for yourself puts things in perspective,” she told me.
“I always figured so. Tell me, someone who’s not spent much time far from Earth, how much is our information filtered? How bad is our idea of the solar system compared to what everyone else knows?” an honest question I’ve always felt the need to answer.
“Well compared to a lot of places that aren’t linked up as well, it’s not that terrible. But considering what is actually served to us as a nation as opposed what one would discover on the nets, yeah: Earth doesn’t want it’s people to know everything. Especially about health and food–we make a lot of money off being sick and malnourished,” she had a tired spite behind these words.
“Gotta love this country,” I said sarcastically. “Well I think we’ve got everything we need, lets head back. I think Moar! will be starting soon.”
After meeting up for the last time that night to go through security again, we split up once inside. Leona, Brick, I peeled off to see the young jam band from upstate New Tros while the others headed in the direction of Naysayer. Having never listened to them to my knowledge, I couldn’t know what I was missing and reasoned I made the right choice. I also wasn’t familiar with Moar! but the others had vouched for them, and the epileptic light show at the end of the first song was enough to seal the deal for me.
When they dragged into their 4th or 5th extended jam I did begin to get tired. It had a lot more diversity than Karp did, but it was the same exact formula, the same style of music I’d listened to last night and would hear again tomorrow. I convinced Brick and Leona to leave so we could meet the others at This Tent for GOVT.
This would have been the third time I was supposed to see them by now: once I missed them by arrive to Sanctus Di Vinci too late, the other was much closer to Olympus and doesn’t have as clean an excuse. Here on Earth though I finally got to see what everyone was so excited about. We ran into Zech, who I hadn’t seen in heavens know how long, so ready to see on of his favorite bands.
After four boring songs I didn’t recognize, I proposed to the others that we leave and either see something else, or head back to the camp and call it a night. They agreed a little easier than I imagined, and together we made our way through Centeroo, passing by the closing number of Seven Foot Spikes, and one of those Moar! songs about beer. We figured leaving was the best option and headed back to our camp to smoke a bowl and pass out.
«←→»
I woke up on the last day of the concert feeling quite poorly rested. It was as late as any of us had slept, sometime around ten, but that wasn’t that much sleep even, considering no one in the entire farm had been able to pass out until Moar! stopped playing at 6 AM.
This morning, after crawling out of the tent like a pupa, we woke ourselves with water-bottle baths from reservoir of melted ice in the cooler, still freezing cold. It was refreshing, to say the least, and once we were into dry, clean clothes, we drank the last of our beers while smoking our waking bowl.
We met up with the others before noon, this time actually getting some food with everyon–real food and enriched food. We could tell it was going to be a slow day, no one making any real sudden movemnets, so when we got ready to see the shows we made sure to bring plenty of weed with us, as well as the blunt.
Civilian Cain was the first band we managed to watch that day, though I’m not sure any others were really playing early that day. We digested while we eased into the high of the day, Rip packing opium into one of the bowls to keep it interesting. There was nothing too memorable about the set, and soon we were on to the greens in front of the main stage.
We set up for Baditz Maru, the female hip-hop singer usually known for having outrageous hair or style. It looked like partied too hard last night as well, a grey sweatshirt hood pulled over her head and large mirrored sunglasses covering most of her face. We could tell it was going to be a slow day for her too.
After establishing the blanket that simply be our home base for the day, Zech, Eli and Rip left to go see some of the other attractions, Minkus wanting to watch her all the way through before leaving to run by the stand-up comedy tent. Leona and I left him with Brick as we ran to see Alan Falcon real quick. It was important that everyone be back before the next band came on the main stage, and especially important for whoever had the blunt.
Falcon put on an unbelievable performance. The band from northern Earth, surprisingly small compared to the depth of sound I’d known from their recordings, merely filled in the space between his multi-instrumental talent. During one song he could play four different ones, a guitar and a violin, both electric and hooked up to loop petals, along with a marimba or some sort of miniature xylophone as well as whistling into a specially effected microphone.
When we’d had our fill we headed back, and hoped Eli would be there in time. Luckily, he was the first to return after us, followed shortly by Mink and Rip, who arrived just before The Dogg took the stage.
One of the most famous and successful rappers still alive, and a fierce proponent for the sticky-icky-icky, it was a dream come true for every pothead in the audience, no matter what the color of your skin–though here it was mostly white. It’s always fun to see songs that have long been favorites of yours in a live performance, especially while doing the same things you would do listening to the music at home. We sparked the blunt and passed it around to everyone as soon as he began playing.
He put on an ever entertaining show, though it was often frustrating for an singer who is usually found featured on other artist’s songs and albums. All the really famous ones usually included another verse or two sung by someone else before he would start, so it was weird when the songs would go from the intro to the last verse when they began. It was still a great show though, and couldn’t have been topped off better.
“Smoke weed, mother gorkers,” he shouted, dropping the mic before exiting the stage.
We collected the foundation of our spot and moved forward one last time, setting up for the final show of the event. There were a few more shows going on: Posse of Ponies, Kitty Crate, and Aaron & Algae, all of which I could have seen myself having a good time at. Instead I was intent on getting a meal in heading back to the main camp to meet anyone who was going to drop acid with me for the last show.
Eli practically begged me for piece of the acid laced paper I’d bought, a sliver of a larger picture of Jerry himself, even offering to trade me his chillum for a taste. I felt bad enough that I didn’t even take it, and split it four ways between him, myself, Brick and Minkus as we sat on top of Zech’s long inert vehicle. We chewed our wads vigorously, intent to make up for ground lost to each other, and we walked to the event center one last time.
The acid was weak, though I’m sure it would have been just as impotent had it not been cut into itty bits. If it kicked in at all, it was a subtle filter slowly vibrating over the rest if the evening. The other three who dropped with me didn’t seem to demonstrate any overwhelming reaction either, but we had to enjoy the moment; the festival was coming to an end.
Back at the blanket where Minkus, Leona and Zech were seated, we rejoined our company with time to smoke before the next act went on. It was going to be Karp again, closing out Bonnaroo with a second performance. I was pretty sure they’d played everything I wanted them to the first time I watched them for 3 hours this weekend, but who knows what fun surprises they could have in store for anyone willing to stick around for the last show.
Unfortunately, the only ace up their sleeve was The Boss, whom they invited on stage to play a couple of songs that I’m not even sure he wrote. Luckily, it was uncanny enough of a shock to make it feel like the acid was working, so I sat back and tried to at least enjoy the novelty of it all–trying hard to ignore the tortured screams and shouts of protest all around me.
“Gork. I thought you had to be on something to have a bad trip,” Minkus said spitefully.
“And this is it, this is my nightmare,” grumbled Brick as he laid down, covering his face with a bandana he had around his neck.
“Should I wake you guys when it’s all over or do you want me to get you up whenever the four horsemen arrive?” I asked as I looked up at the sky, half expecting skeletal riders to mounting a sulfuric storm front to the tune of Mustang Sally.
“Don’t bother, just get me for the fat lady…or the messiah…whoever they get to sing the closing number,” Minkus grumbled as he too layed down, pulling his had down over his eyes.
After a moment of reflection, I turned to Rip, who was packing another bowl now that only a few people were still awake to smoke it with him. “You know, if this really were the end of the world, I think I’d be satisfied with my life, especially after everything that’s happened this past week.”
“How many times have you supposed to die by now?” he asked, taking a hit.
“Four times,” I answered quickly, obviously having counted already. “Wait…5 times; there were some awfully questionable quesadillas the other morning.”
“You’re crazy,” he said, handing off the pipe as he exhaled.
«←→»
I woke up on the fifth day, better rested than I had on any previous day of the festival. Technically it was already over, as there were no events scheduled or entertainment planned, but the final day is still always an important part of the Bonnaroo tradition. This was the day you do your last minute shopping before the vendors leave, or snatch up the things everyone left behind. Today you try to find the friends you lost at the beginning of the festival, or the ride home you never really had before it started. This is about the time you sell the last of your weed or anything else you can to make gas money before it‘s too late.
I packed up my few belongings, my backpack and the small suitcase I brought, and helped my companions dismantle the tent and load up Brick’s crawler. Without any real ceremony or hesitation, I waved them off as I stood in an empty campsite, watching them slowly roll away. I began the lonely trudge to my brother’s camp.
At first I thought it would be odd to have five people in a party, but Zech was reasonably incapacitated from the weed cookies he’d already eaten that morning. The three remaining standing did little more than that, difficultly sloshing through each step they took as they slowly filled the car. It was frustrating to watch happen, the potential energy not being utilized.
Anxious to get this show on the road, and generally irritated that I was joining this crew just to chauffeur it to Dominia, I felt a bit like a lieutenant given a unit of uncooperative cadets. I looked down on them stumbling to get the last of their things as I secured Eon’s case to the roof rack, feeling like I already hated them and I hadn’t even gotten behind the wheel yet. I barked a few commands at them and climbed behind the controls to adjust the settings, seats and monitors to my trim while I waited for them to finish.
Rip was the only one willing to be useful, so I had him sit shotgun, in charge of navigation, music, and bowl packing. Eli and Zech were completely passed out on either side of the back seat, as I wished Mink had been. He was awake and complaining the whole time, especially if I accidentally switched off the audio to the movie he was watching on the screen installed into the ceiling of the cabin, which was easy to do when we had to turn down the music to take a phone call. He wouldn’t let us turn up our music too high, either, otherwise it would drown out his headphones–which raised the important question of who’s comfort was more important.
I grumbled to myself as I thumbed over to cruise control, operating acceleration with my hand to give my legs a rest. Rip handed me a bowl right before I merged onto the freeway that we’d be taking most of the way through Dominia, and passed a small sign for the town Morris.
