Salvia and psychonauts at Eagles Drift In

Back at the Drift, Nick, who had been talking about his myriad bad experiences with salvia, went over to the jukebox and played "Who Are You" by the Who. I was so caught up in existential thought that I didn't even think of CSI when I heard it.

Since we had been so heavily into conversations about meaning, I brought up the name of the bar. Just as with human existence, no one really knew its exact origins, and there were many theories. "Have you stood across the street and looked at the bar?" said Ray with a gleam in his eyes. Nick stood behind him, nodding knowingly. "It used to be a church. You can tell."

"Or a school," added Nick. The gist I got was that Eagles Drift In was sacred ground of some sort. We were all there, chatting together, in God's little acre of MGD and Santana. I felt moved, and decided to play my favorite classic rock songs. I picked "Cortez the Killer" by Neil Young — as a nod to Latin America's love affair with hallucinogenic properties — and "Tuesday's Gone" by Skynyrd.

Ray said he had a bunch of salvia at his place, and the intrepid reporter in me almost asked if I could try it. Almost. But no, I have resigned myself to the safety of Kmart. Aisle nine, row three, next to the back massagers and the raised toilet seats, with, of course, the muzak Eagles playing 24/7.

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