You’re not? Then how come I’m so cold? he asked her.

She continued to stare at him. Then she asked him, What is wrong with you?

Ivan didn’t understand her question. Hunh?

What is wrong with you? she repeated. He was making a fool of himself out in front of her.

In his delusional state of mind, it all seemed real…for a second. Then he snapped out of it. He grabbed his throbbing head and asked himself, What am I talking about? I’m bugging, man. I’m high as hell in here. I don’t even know that girl.

He fell back down on the sofa and began to rub his temples, with the jazz music still talking to him. The harmonizing voices made him feel as if a thousand eyes were watching him make a fool of himself. And he was powerless to do anything about it. The high had him stranded out in the desert.

When is this gonna wear off? The insanity had gone on long enough. The slithery, snakelike energy continued to run up and down his body. Ivan moved his hands from his head to his arms and shoulders, and then down to his legs.

“Fuck! What am I so cold for? I got clothes on.”

Maybe I just can’t handle this shit. You can’t OD off of weed, can you…? SHIT!

Ivan had only been high a few times before, in his college days. But the strain of marijuana he had tried back then was not half as potent. He didn’t even cough with Julio’s strain. It went down smooth and kicked in hard.

Ivan forced himself up a third time to pull out a comforter from his hallway closet. He carried it back to the sofa to stretch out with it across the couch, while wrapping it around himself like a mummy.

Man, if I make it through this, I’m never getting high again, he told himself as his body continued to twitch. This is crazy! I just wanna go to sleep now. I just wanna go to sleep…

MIRACULOUSLY, when his alarm clock went off at a quarter to seven in the morning, Ivan felt sane again. His body was worn out from the uncontrollable movement, his eyes were bloodshot from the smoke, and his hair was mangled from the craziness, but other than that, he had survived his spontaneous experimentation. So he climbed up from the sofa, where he had slept and listened to music all night, and he smiled to himself.

“What don’t kill you makes you stronger,” he mumbled through his grin. He was overjoyed to still be alive. “But I’m not doing that shit no more,” he stated. “I got too much to do.”

In opposition to the dark, sporadic energy and paranoia the marijuana had given him the night before, when the high had faded in the morning, Ivan felt light-headed and optimistic.