Short Story: The Golden Lion, The Trip and The Pick-Up Truck
The Golden Lion, The Weight and The Pick-up Truck It certainly, I think, is not a good idea to drop acid and go to the pub. Someone in our midst had offered the prospect of a football match and back in the miserable front room of the battered house it had rushed to us in a coat of wonder, with us all thinking of the green and the glory of the ultimate game. Everyone embracing and becoming transfixed with our own nostalgic elements, my main one being quite randomly the voices of excited commentators (Aguerooooo), which became amplified by the trip and the blandness of our environment. One of the present company was transfixed by the idea of the smell of the stands on match day and kept mumbling about steak and kidney pies. Of course, we were all to spaced and none of us thought to mention that these smells would not be present at our local dive of a pub. The cut through the park on the way to The Golden Lion was a mesmerising one. Nature and hallucinogens always collide with the m...