Air Supply

Bouncer gets high the old-fashioned (and kind of stupid) way: oxygen

The guys checked on me periodically (no pun intended) and assured me that I didn't look stupid. After a fashion, I rested my chin in my hand and found myself quite content just staring at the wall in a happy haze.

I drove home safely, though not necessarily more focused. I can't see how one's concentration is helped. I crawled into bed immediately and slept like a proverbial rock, dreaming of working at Amoeba again, only this time with my high school classmates. Oh, and I was in my underwear. Pretty basic dream fodder I guess.

I expected to wake up refreshed and sharp as a tack, as the bartender had promised, but I abruptly boinked into the doorjamb of the bathroom in my usual morning daze. All of this left me with one song ringing through my head, Sweet's "Love Is Like Oxygen," with its '70s booty guitar riff playing over and over. "You get too much, you get too high, not enough and you're gonna die-e-yi, love gets ya high." I suppose that's better than being left with the image of Oprah Winfrey's cable network. For now, I am going to stick to inhaling the free stuff.

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