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entry 17
- 20th November 01
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Mystery
Drug
I'm still brewing about last night's party. Tim-tom was there. He appeared as if from nowhere at about 11 o'clock (I suddenly realised he was sitting next to me), and in his own inimitable fashion he launched into a questions requiring answers session... "Tim would say you've slept with Angela. Would
you go along with Tom?" And on he went, trying to get me to admit that I was shagging his girlfriend, which I wasn't. Then he gave me some information about himself which was, basically, that he'd spent a lot of time in prison for burning someone to death. He finished his brief but scary visitation by handing me a small cling-film package which contained what looked like grass... I asked, nervously, if it was. "Tim doesn't call it grass. You can call it grass if you want. Tom doesn't call it grass." He told me to take it home with me and consume as little or as much of it as I liked, but to be sure to think of him while I was doing so. And I probably will. But not today.
more tomorrow
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