"Whatever you do," Rama had said, "don't order a strawberry shake!"
Rama and Sal proceeded to repeat the warning as if it were a mantra.
Perhaps the drug magnified my sensitivity to the way Sal
parroted Rama. Perhaps it magnified my sense of independence.
Perhaps I was not in the mood for chocolate or vanilla. I stumbled
to the counter and ordered a strawberry shake. It was delicious.
Rama and Sal looked at me disapprovingly. I couldn't have
cared less.
The memory of the MacDonald's trip made me smile. Later, as I
approached Casa Del Zorro, I had a flashback of Rama giving me acid
at his home in Malibu. I had been sitting on a rug in the living room.
A Beatles record played. ("You never give me your money...")
Rama entered the room.
"How are you doing, kid?" he asked.
"Not so good." I had been thinking about money. The world
of my finances had appeared as menacing walls of debt that were
surrounding and closing in on me. I felt miserable. Tears formed.
I told Rama what I was going through.
"Listen to the words of the song," he said. ("Oh, that magic feeling,
nowhere to go...") "See, kid? Nowhere to go."
I gazed at the floor.
"You need to take time and rethink your life," he went on.
"Somehow you got entrenched in the dark side.
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