Dan Daiquiri

The old library building was a marvel, a place well renowned for it’s style and the top DJs who’d often play. It did however have an association with drugs, predominantly uppers but to be honest you could pretty much find anything in that place. I remember one time when I’d seen my religious studies teacher in this very nightclub when I was around 16, I think it was from that moment on that I’d always seen a more human side to authority figures, a jovial side. She never said a word, and neither did I. Getting in was easy, if you’d been in before it was an automatic entry but to get into the club under age you had to go a few times with some known regulars a few times until you were known to the security. It wasn’t rare for people to jump over the back fence either, there was a break in the wall at the back which meant it formed a slight step making the jump in a lot easier, considering the wall and fence combined was around 12 feet tall, it made it almost effortless. This was to be my method of entry for the evening to save cash for consumables so I hopped the fence, and made my way through the foliage and emerged into the main garden.

On the inside of the club, I always felt I needed a plan of action, a few key steps to ensure I maximised the enjoyment of my night because without those rituals the whole night would feel off-kilter. The first step was always one of two things: Find the dealer or grab a beer and this time I went with the latter. Canned Red Stripe was the drink of choice and it more often than not had a kind of flatter side of carbonation, where it felt that there were no bubbles but you could convince yourself that there was some fully fledged effervescence. After the first drink and with the second in hand, we searched the club and garden for one of many folks who had some sort of funky substance which could set the night off at any moment.

I remember looking down at my hand, and the blue-speckled pill glistened with an almost pearlescent quality to it, at the time these were the gold standard. A sign of quality, from which my night was sure to be interesting to some degree. Beer in the right hand and a tightly gripped duo of pills in the left, I took one last look before slamming them in my mouth and cocking my head back. The swig of beer quickly followed, the warmth of the beer slowly frothing the pill as it descended down my throat. The taste of acetate produced a smile on my face and the pounding of music in the dimly lit bathroom echoed through my body, and the body of many others also doing the same. The toilets here were usually a safe haven, it was rare to get caught by the bouncers as they themselves were in on the miniature society within the club. They had favourites, and they would most of the time resell confiscated drugs. If you got the timing right though, it was easy to tiptoe around them and schedule your trip to the dark graffitied bathroom. 

We’d moved outside and sat at one of the many wooden picnic benches scattered around the garden, all situated around a stone centre piece, this was likely a fountain in days passed although now it was a bit worn but this didn’t stop flocks of people gathering around it. I was a heavy smoker back then, could easily smash through 20 a day with no hesitation. Even now, I’m not entirely convinced I’m as addicted to nicotine as I think but now it’s disposable vapes. And I can chief through at least one a day. I couldn’t quite place how many beers I’d had by this point, 8? 10? Potentially more. My friend had went inside for another drink whilst I’d stealthily slipped another two pills in my mouth, I knew I had to strap myself in for a ride.  I remember people coming and going as I worked my way through 4 cigarettes. The whole time, peaking further and further, the light tingle inside like a flutter of a butterfly’s wing tickling your heart. The fuzzy feeling and rising pins and needles, the kind that only MDMA and Ecstasy can provide. As one person left another had joined, through which the chat always changed but was a constant stream. The conversations, the grand plans and the observations of life. These were things utterly groundbreaking at the time, in reflection they were a collection of mere rambles from a brain contorting itself through a tiny pinhole of thought. I was also chatting rubbish, spreading the sheer joy and elation I felt whilst my heart was pounding and the euphoria rapidly took over my perception of reality. It felt like my body and spirit were being lightly lifted off of the wooden picnic bench I was on, whilst coated in a thin veil of sweat and a heavyset breath. And in that moment I’m still not sure what had happened as by my perception I was still sitting up. A moment flickered and I heard “Man, what the fuck?” in a blink of darkness, my head raised up from the bench and there it was, the very thing this had all been leading to.

I was sick, not quite projectile but it was certainly very linear, almost a focused jet of vomit that splashed up from the table. Luckily nobody was caught in the crossfire, but to the couple folk around it was certainly a moment, the irony being that now I’m the only one who can remember it so vividly. I felt like my life was ruined, that people would forever think I was a lightweight. The fear trembled despite still being full of euphoria. I feel that now I have some handle on what happened, it was a combination of motion sickness and the overbearing intensity of the constantly shifting surroundings within my mind. The bass from the speakers rippling through every part of my body further pushing my motion sickness to a whole new level and distracting my unfocused mind with invisible waves through the air and the club.

A move from the bench was in order, I needed to plan my cover up or at least blend in long enough for the heat to settle. I got up and entered the nightclub. I remember everything being incredibly vibrant, colours danced on the walls and the roof. Even the trees were dancing on the way in, a kind of outward weave as my brain focused on every single leaf in a nanosecond. This razor sharp hyperfocus and ability to comprehend so much at a given second has always fascinated me while on drugs. I knew trying to find my friend who was also balls deep in his trip would be tough, two delinquents bobbing about in a sea of blurred faces, like a buoy on the open sea. Everywhere I looked there was more of these faces and through every face a story, a story I’d written and lived in that short fragment of time. After my escapade at the bench, I knew I had to find him fast, an alibi to attest my innocence.