The partying never really ended. If we weren’t jamming at the Band club, it would be at the West End or the Elk’s or someone’s house. It really didn’t matter, because we were all good friends in our oversized clique. One Saturday afternoon we were playing for a dance in a church basement on Kempton Street. The dance was being held for the younger folks in the community. Everything was going just fine at the dance. The place was packed with teens as well as some of our regular adult fans. It didn’t matter to the listeners that the crowd was mixed, they just wanted to hear us jam. That was no problem, because we knew we played well together, and there was nothing the crowd enjoyed more.
We were half way through the gig, when a friend stopped in to see us. He was a popular musician in town and everybody loved him as well. While he was there making his personal appearance, he invited the band to go for a ride with him during the next break. It was a beautiful summer day so it was hard to refuse a quick ride around the block to get some “fresh air”. We had been playing hard and were ready for a little toke of some Colombian or some Gold or some Red. Our friend was known for having a good "jay" or two with him at all times. We all jumped into the van parked around the corner from the church. While our pal chauffeured us around the block, he passed a couple of skinny little "Js" back to us. We giggled as we lit the little sticks of grass, as he assured us that the trip would be worth it. Well, what to our surprise, the bells started to ring in our ears and the euphoria was an instant hit. We were suddenly zonked. “What is that shit?” One of the guys said. “That’s Angel dust, ”replied the driver. It’s new. “Wow!” we all said at what seemed liked the same time, as the smoke descended onto or innocent minds like a ton of bricks.
It was too late. We had already committed ourselves to the devastating effects off the altered weed. We didn’t know what it was at that point, but the paranoia was already starting to set in and make us wonder if we would be able to finish the gig. We were zonked. We had no idea of what the high would be like. Too late now, was the only thing we could think of. We sloshed around in the back of the van like a bowl of left- over Jell-O. We had lost track of time at this point, and were primarily depending on the driver to deliver us back to the church. We weren’t late when we returned, but the overwhelming paranoia was dominating our whole world.
A crowd of folks anxiously awaited us as we appeared shamefully from around the corner. We tried wearing sun glasses to hide our glazed eyes, but that didn’t help much with the wobbling effect that accompanied the high. The guilt was overbearing as we wiggled through the crowd that had gathered outside the church. Not only did we feel guilty about going back into the church all messed up, but we also ruined a perfectly good day, because the numbing effects took your sense of being away. Somehow the crowd was still cheering us on as we floundered with our instruments on the stage. It was time for us to do a set of "Chicago" tunes followed by some Blood Sweat and Tears tunes. This final set should have taken us at least an hour and a half to do, but we were speeding so fast from the dust it only took us an hour to finish the whole set. We were so wired and played so fast the crowd just stood there in amazement, shocked at what we had done. Before anyone realized it, we had exhausted all our tunes and the gig was over. We just stood there looking at each other and trying to figure out what had happened. We wanted to apologized to the crowd, but we were too jammed to do that. So we just put our instruments down, and ran into the back room of the church, where we started wolfing down a bucket of fried chicken, in an effort to dispel the devastating effects of the wicked weed we had consumed.