anyway, an anecdote that may or may not have occured in this reality.
I was in new south wales for a week or so, but by the time I got back, it was like an entire epoch had come and gone.
there are whole chunks of ambient culture I do not recognise.
Yesterday, for instance, a guy offered me a hit of this funky new designer psychomimetic called 'alter'. I didn't have time to run it through the NMR, the marquis gave an innocuous enough result and it seemed optically pure.
No fucker told me that the drug induces a temporary bout of multiple personality disorder.
So I spent ninety minutes completely naked in the cafe/club area of northbridge with my brain trapped in the death grip of Einarr, a syphilis-maddened norse tribal lawman from a circa-1450 scandenevian ghetto.
No, let's get specific here. I spent ninety minutes dispensing ancient wisdom and savage law up and down the street, the alter only wearing off after I brutally beat a ten year old boy. He had been pissing in his little sister's pram while mommy was off down the alleyway buying a touch of discreet oral sex from an out-of-work voice actor named Giles.
These unemployed voice actors gone bad are the worst. When they're not whoring on streetcorners, or trying to look menacing as they loiter around the drama sections of second-hand bookstores, they form gangs that relentlessly try to attach themselves to stylish homosexuals and break all the noise laws by bitching about pretty girls and people with talent.
My MPD faltered just as I was about to dispense viking justice to Gile's tender bits. I settled for branding him and the woman, kicking the ten year old into passing traffic and putting the little girl up for adoption as my only daughter.
You have no idea how much I hate it here.