Mkat kids

You are at work, stood out the back, waiting for your pizza to be cooked so you can deliver it. Your friend is on the phone, he's at a festival, he sounds like he's having a much better time than you are, he tells you that he's been taking this new drug. You can't remember the name but it sounds like the stuff that you get in rehab, if your a junky coming off the smack. He says it feels like MDMA only better! And, that it is LEGAL, all you have to do is order it from this website and it only costs ten pounds a gram.

You are on facebook and it could be anytime over the summer holidays and your friend-cum-soon-to-be-housemate, sends a link to a website selling some legal drug, and he's raving about how good it is. You don't really take any notice of this.

You've moved into your new house, there is a fireplace and you have a pew in your sitting room. Term has begun, but nobody has any real work yet and you are planning a houseparty. You reckon it is gonna be massive, with hundreds of people, people that you don't even know. You want to make some money out of these strangers being in your house, so you plan to buy this legal-fake-MDMA and sell it on at twice the value. Your friend sends an email to the company with the order for ten grams of this 'Mephedrone' stuff, but you don't end up putting your debit card details in because a taxi turns up.

A week, or whatever later your friend comes round; its a Thursday night and you want to try some of the stuff before you buy. He gives you a few lines of this white powder, it tastes fizzy like you'd imagine washing up powder would taste. You down a can of beer and you can feel the powder mixing with the liquid, effervescing around your gums. You get a taxi to your mates house, who lives near town and everybody does some more lines of this Mkat. Sunny Day Real Estate is playing and you suddenly feel all loved up; you don't have a care in the world; where you are right now; this situation feels like bliss; your aspirations somehow seem fulfilled. There's about eight of you in the room, four dialogues blend into one, somebody is playing the guitar gently, everybody is smiling, everybody is talking frantically. There doesn't seem enough seconds in the day for everybody to get their point across, but everybody is listening to what everybody else is saying. You feel a surge of empathy rush through your body, through your bones, as people relate stories to you.

You walk down to the town in a big group arm in arm, like a bunch of faggots. You all tell each other, that you love each other a few times over. You get to a bar and the constant stories of each person's life enfold. Your friend buys in some shots of Sambuca and, in unison, you all whack them back. Your in an elegant bar and for the first time ever, of going there, you feel like you and your friends own the place. Some girls sit next to you, and your normal anxieties that inhibit you from talking to them have vanished from your soul. You get to chatting about, 'how frustrating they find it to be called a student' , what they think of the clubs in Exeter, who you know, that they also know, from an agricultural college in Devon. Although you wouldn't normally agree with what they say; tonight; you do. You invite them to your party, which is tomorrow night, and you get their number to let them know the details. When you leave the bar, one of your mates - deadly seriously, whilst taking a piss and you are stood right behind him - exclaims that you and him HAVE to double-team one of the girls, at your party.

You walk through the town, thinking to yourself that you want to chat up every girl that walks past you, but you are too engrossed in a conversation to bother with all that. When you get to the club, most of your mates have stopped in a phone box, but you know that they all have mobiles, so telephonic communication is not the reason for the pit stop. You don't feel any need to dance so you don't even bother venturing into the sweat-pit of a club. Instead you and your friends walk around outside talking to strangers about anything, bragging maybe, about 'how good your house is', telling them that you 'have a pond, a trampoline and a giant bedroom with a sink' probably hinting that they should visit your bedroom. But you get too carried away and forget that girls don't piss standing up and will not appreciate the joys of using the cold water tap as the flush in your make-shift loo. You catch your friend telling people about your plans for a secret online newspaper, that only that night; you had all agreed would be held with the utmost confidentiality. One of your friends, starts chatting up a policeman and a council worker, before doing one, and going home with a girl. You see loads of people from your course and then you go back to your friends for a spliff, the mixture of the weed and the Mkat makes you feel strange, you don't eat anything, you get a taxi back and then you go to bed.

Only two days later you are having a party and your house is massive, so it looks empty even though there is about thirty people here. You talk to a ginger girl and she wants to buy some weed off of you, but you don't have any, which she doesn't seem to understand. More people start to come, but you spend all of your time in yours or your housemates' rooms taking Mkat and having in-depth conversations about your past and how it has affected you in the present. You get five girls in your room, and inadvertently begin talking incredibly fast; showing them your floral design furniture; telling them that you planned to have a suitcase waiting ominously on the floor bursting at the seams with fake fifty pound notes, and that you think this would impress them and eventually lead to them falling in-love with you. Belle and Sebastian are playing on your stereo, naturally, but the girls think you are trying to woo them, so you just get them all on your bed and take a photo of it. For the duration of the night, you ignore all of the guests at the party, apart from your closest friends, who you snort lines of Mkat with for hours on end, recycling conversations of love and respect. You take a balloon of NOS and it feels lush, it reminds you of when, in year eight, you broke your collar-bone playing football and were rushed to hospital in an ambulance car, sucking on a tube of sugary 'gas and air'.
Later on you want to go to sleep, but everybody is in your room and talking too fast. You put Juno on and shut your eyes and ears.

The next day you sit on the sofa, saying not a lot, watching football all day and then you cook a ready meal; Lamb Moussaka with Garlic Bread. For two days your brain does not work properly and you have no depth of thought; creativity alludes you.

A few days later, you find some of the white powder on your desk, so you decide to gum a little bit before uni. In the lunch-hall you talk loads for about half an hour, you start singing "I wanna get freakay with you" and become embarrassed. In the lecture you want to run around.

The next week you have some friends from home visiting and you all do some Mkat and drink some beer, you go to your friends house party, but for some reason, decide to spend all the time in her room, without her. At the same time as this, your good pals are playing their first ever gig downstairs but you are not there supporting them. You go into town and spend no time whatsoever on the dance floor; instead you enjoy sitting down in the smoking area, embarking on journeys only, to a toilet cubicle for a line or to steal a drink from a table. You talk to some girls, you talk to your mates and are rudely interrupted by a group of chavvy looking kids who want to buy some drugs from you, you feel vulnerable and uneasy. You tell them the truth that you don't have any left, after intimidating you for a while, they leave and you tell your friend he's an idiot for trying to make money out of some random fucking guys in a club. You sit back down and your eyes start to lose their focus, it feels like when you see a depiction of drug-taking in a film; as you move your head the images sent to your brain blur and shake, like a time-lapse camera. You just about feel in control, but you do not feel comfortable, just remembering this feeling makes your head feel nauseous. You walk all the way home because you know you wont be able to sleep, your heart is pounding out of your chest, and it is actually audible to people standing close enough to you. In your house; three girls are lying on a sofa, they are not saying anything, two boys are doing the same. One boy is taking forty-five minutes to roll up a spliff. A couple is on the trampoline looking at the stars under a blanket touching up another boy as they make out. You think to yourself "What the fuck happened to us". You want to eat, but you are not at all hungry. Your stomach feels like a deep pit, your soul, right now, feels vacuous. You realise this is not good, you realise your group of friends needs to divorce the Mkat.

The next day you sit in a lecture room sniffing like crazy, gurning your face off and your head is swaying from side to side as your brain tries to go to sleep. You want a pair of shades because the lights seem unbearably bright, even though they have been dimmed considerably, and you also think that you might be able to visit the land of nod without being noticed under the cover of the sunglasses. Nothing. is taken. in.

You end up taking the stuff one more time, before selling the last of it for twenty quid. You go out, drink alcohol and have a lush night. The next day you drive to the city and you and your two friends enjoy a hangover immensely.