He thought about that as he finished smoking the rest of the blunt. He climbed to his feet and stumbled inside the kitchen to put it out in the sink before it would burn his fingers at the nub. Since he didn’t usually smoke, Ivan had no ashtrays sitting around. And when the full high hit him, he walked gingerly to the sofa, where he crashed back down into his seat.

“Shit!” he told himself, feeling the disorientation of his mind and body. “I’m high as hell in here.”

That’s when his doubts and paranoia kicked into overdrive.

Damn! I got a job that I might get fired from tomorrow if they ask me for a urine sample…Please don’t ask me for no urine sample. I don’t even get high like this. This is not normal for me. I’ll never let it happen again in my life. Honestly.

Then he began to laugh at himself.

“They won’t do that shit. For what?” he mumbled aloud. I have no history of doing any drugs. They don’t check up on you for that shit, no way. What the hell am I thinking about?

As the jazz music continued to open up his mind from the background, Ivan began to think about his present and future.

Am I gonna be somebody? he asked himself. Then he paused for what seemed like an extralong time. Nah, who am I kidding? Ivan David is a nobody. I’m a fucking joke. I’m no better off than my brother. I just got a college degree and a job.

Then he thought about it again.

But at least I don’t have no kids and three baby mommas in my way. Maybe I can make it. If anybody else can make it, I can make it, too. Ain’t nobody better than me. What makes them better than me? You just gotta stand up and do something.

He even stood up in the room to make a statement to himself. Or stumbled up.

I’m gonna make a name for myself, he declared. And they’re gonna know me in this town. They’re gonna know me! San Diego’s Ivan David…the party promoter.

As he stood there thinking to himself about his declaration, he closed his eyes and began to sway blindly to the jazz music. The high was pulsating in his nerves, creating an insane energy of randomness.

Suddenly his skin felt cold; he rubbed his arms and shoulders for warmth.

“Shit. It’s cold in here,” he mumbled. Somebody hold me, he thought. Mom, I’m cold. I need to turn the heat up. But his mother didn’t respond to him.

Then he visualized the girl at the party. Lucina Gallo. She was right there on the sidewalk in front of him. He asked her, Ain’t you cold?

She answered, No, with her hard, colored eyes right on him.