SOC #11: No gold in the Rainbow

One of Hunter S. Thompson's most famous quotes: "I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me." The man eventually shot a bullet into his brain, but still remains one of my literary idols to this day. The best way to admire artists is loving their work, not what they do in their real world lives. My friend and I got to our room after going down the hallway in the wrong direction, then going the other way, only to pass it, realizing we both weren't reading the fucking numbers on the room doors, but staring down at the carpets as we walked. My friend said, "I can't tell what it looks like. It keeps moving." I said, "Stop looking at the floor, look up. We got to get to the room before it's too late and they take us away." My friend said, "I thought you were looking for the room. I was just following, staring down at the carpet. I always do that on shrooms." I said, "I was doing that too. Where's three-three-seven, goddammit?" My friend stopped, then informed, "Right here, man. I don't got the key." I stopped, turned around, came to the door. It took me three swipes of the room key to open the door. When the door finally opened, I rushed in, my friend leisurely strode in, still staring at the carpet and the difference in pattern from the rooms carpet compared to the hallway's. I grabbed his arm, pulled him clear of the door, saying, "We're safe." Then tried to close the door, but my friend's luggage got in the way. I picked it up and tossed it further into the room. I closed the door as normally as possible. When I locked the door, I exhaled as if being saved from drowning. My friend said, "Damn, dude, we cool. Look at the carpet, it's like the galaxy with a lightbulb shining on it." I said, "Stop talking like that. That's not a lightbulb, it's the sun shining through the window." I got fixated on the view immediately upon noticing it, tossed my suitcase and backpack on the bed, and went up to the window. I put my arms up, my hands in fists, and said, "I feel like I can fly like Superman." My friend said, "Don't be like that one asshole and jump out the window, take off from the ground like all the other flying creatures." I said, "Oh, that makes sense." My friend sat on the bed, turned on the TV. He said, "Lets eat more of the shrooms and watch the news. You won't believe the shit you'll see." I snapped at him, "I didn't come here to watch the fucking news. Soon as this shit wears off as much as it can. I'm going back down to the convention to enjoy it with sound mind." My friend said, "Coke can help mellow you out." I yelped, "You brought cocaine?" My friend admitted, "Yeah, and -" I interrupted, "I thought we were gonna just smoke weed and eat magic cookies on this trip to begin with, then I learn you brought shrooms that were dipped in acid, cocaine, and what else?" My friend smiled, chuckling. He said, "Maybe I won't tell you the rest. More for me." I said, "Yes, more for you. No more for me. I'm going to the bathroom, then I'm going back to the convention, and maybe catch a few panels." My friend said, "I thought you were going to write." I said, "Not right now." After going to the bathroom to piss and shit, then throw up, I left the room, making sure I had the key, and was about to head to the elevators when I looked up to see Bee Bee exiting her room, a gold halo over her head, and white-feathered wings hanging from her shoulder blades. Damn. Or damn lucky. She noticed me, giving me a short wave. I said, "Have a good day at work." We both were headed to the elevators. She said, "Thanks. What are you about to do?" I had to think about it for a bit as we walked, side-by-side. I asked, "There any author's in any of the Exhibit Halls today?" She replied, "Yes. Ray Bradbury is speaking later, but I don't know which room he's going to be in." I said, "I'll find out. What's your schedule like? Who are you going to interview?" She said, "One of them is the comic book writer Mark Miller. You know him?" The elevator doors opened and we entered. I replied, "No. I'm not a big comic book reader." We walked to the convention center, chit-chatting about this and that. I think she could tell I was on drugs, but was polite enough not to give any indication she noticed. We went our separate ways: her going to work; me, well, just tripping balls, observing art, hopefully remembering it later.