“Peace is what you get from the Chemical King,” the hippie-poser announced as he laid out the little baggies of powder in front of me on the table.

“Yeah, yeah,” I answered. “How much?”

He looked hurt. “How much? What price can one place on Truth? How much does one pay for Enlightenment?”

Truth? Enlightenment? Please. I just wanted to get high. “How much?” I repeated.

“This is the Alpha,” he pontificated, “and The Omega. In Eden, it was called the Forbidden Fruit; on the cold Plateau of Leng, the yellow men know it as the Black Lotus. Beware, young seeker of earthly delights; partake of my wares and your eyes shall be unveiled. You shall have knowledge of both Good and Evil. For a short time, you shall be as God himself.”

Apparently, the “Chemical King” had sampled one batch too many.

“Uh huh,” I said, letting the freak finish. “Man, you had me at Hello. How much for the little bag?”

“Fifty bucks,” he said, disappointed that I hadn’t paid attention to his sermon. “And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”