“Has anyone seen Alan? We’re leaving soon…” There was no use asking. Everyone had gone to sleep at least an hour ago. And, if it wasn’t three in the morning, I might’ve cared more about the ginger’s absence. I knew he would eventually find his way back to the bus before we left. He always did.

1. 1/1.

   I squeeze my eyes closed and hold the guitarist a little bit closer. The pot was laced and now he’s having a bad trip.