OUT OF TOWN GAMES ARE DANGEROUS

During my sophomore year in high school I developed a friendship with a senior who was in my history of the minorities class. He was a stoner like me, in fact,that's what we called him...Stoner, cause his last name was Stone...I know, fucking genius filthy pot head hippies. Anyway, the other thing we had in common was photo journalism, and he was assigned to shoot the football game in Llano, Texas, which was about 80 miles away from Austin. One thing led to another and we had ourselves a road trip set up in his parents suburban...this was a mid 70's sub and it was huge.
Now, we were going to a high school football game, in a rural part of Texas. Stoner had a reason to be there, to photograph the game, but the rest of us were along for the ride and the good people of Llano had not seen many people like us, meaning hair farming drugged out psychos at all, much less at a high school football game. For the uninformed, let me just say that high school football is akin to the fucking rapture to parents in Texas, and the presence of filthy hippy freaks was akin to the invasion of pearl harbor, but it was a chance for a road trip, complete with weed and beer and quaaludes...the real ones, the ones that said rorer-714.
Now that I think about it, it was a real mixed bag in that suburban, there was stoner at the wheel, Chris, the slut who put out, me, Roger, who would have been more at home in Hell's kitchen and Cindy, the pretend slut who acted like she put out, but didn't. And my friend Mark, aka Snowy. Snowy because of his dandruff and nothing to do with cocaine...really.
There were other folks in different vehicles meeting us there, but the only one I can clearly remember was Wendy...my on and off again girlfriend / true love.
By the time we got to our destination Roger had rolled down the back window and pissed all over the windshield of a cadillac full of of old people on the highway. I had leaned over the back of the front seat to use the lighter to see Chris laying across the seat with her pants down to her ankles blowing stoner, stoner had his finger...well like I said, she put out and it was no secret.
So we get to the game and Stoner goes down to the field to take the pictures. We go to the home teams side of the stand and take our seats, when the band played the medly of school songs and the star spangled banner, we stood with arms outstretched like hitler youth.The home team fans were freaked out. We thought it was hysterical. After they determined we were from westlake, we were asked to move to the other side of the field.
That's when we ate the quaaludes and spent the rest of the game intimidating the rednecks from Llano who were drinking beer and smoking cigarettes under the bleachers on the visitors side, looking for a fight. We had weed and quaaludes in our arsenal so there was no fight, but rather a joining up of disparate tribes, linked by drugs and alcohol. Rednecks and hippies, communing under the bleachers as an alternative to fighting (considering that hippies and rednecks were mortal enemies, this was akin to peace in the mideast) It was the first time that it occurred to me that substance abuse knew no boundaries.
So...the game is over and we head back to austin in the giant suburban, we finish the beer and weed and all that's left is quaaludes, I take one.
An hour or so after we get back to snowy's house (I'm spending the night) I effectively OD on the weed, the beer, and the quaaludes, I stumble out to the pool and grab a chair and just sit, waiting to die.
Snowy's parents hear the doors open and close, and want to know whats wrong...Snowy tells them I think I'm a monk and I'm meditating on the ripples off the pool.
They buy it and go back to bed. Not busted, I spend the next hours (until sunrise) thinking I was going to die. I never did downers again.
But speed...now that's another story.