Trippin Bobby by Phil Cummings

Trippin Bobby

This was a chore for him and he was getting through it with grace and skill but there was no mental involvement at all; even my LSD flashing mind could sense that. It relaxed me. I was invisible, a two-dimensional piece of cardboard cut out to human form. He shook Karen’s hand and then turned to me. I raised my hand for him to shake gently and distantly and found him looking into my wildly dilated pupils. Did I detect a second of him seeing that I was on acid?
“Did your parents vote for me?” he asked me.
“They live in Nevada. Karen and I live in Las Vegas.” I managed to say.