It’s been a running joke of mine for decades.
Invoked at moments in my mundane existence, when getting in touch with an inner Ken Kesey levity would be nice.
Where are those acid flashbacks now that I really need them, the ones our finger-wagging elders warned us about back in the day ? A few kandy-colored tracers wouldn’t be a bad thing now and again, as long as I’m not behind the wheel.
Little do I want, however, a brown acid bummer. Like the only one of mine experienced at a Chicago concert at Memorial Coliseum.