I took cocaine and MDMA in a hotel room with a drug-crazy friend. I’d drank about a third of a litre of rum beforehand because I was feeling socially nervous. Neither of the drugs had any noticeable effect, perhaps because of all the alcohol. But in the taxi to the club, I did talk more than usual. I said, “Did anyone hear about the taxi driver who killed people? He picked them up in his cab, drove them out in the countryside, and then stabbed them to death with a knife. Then he would bury the bodies in the woods. And his name was…” and I read the name of our taxi driver, written on his card on the dashboard. No-one found it funny.
I miss drugs.