I divvied up the shrooms and sold one ounce to Josh Corber and three other dudes I wasn’t good friends with. When I got home, I put the second ounce under my bed, tossed my yearbook ON my bed, and took the bus to meet some friends who were smoking weed at one of their grandmas’ houses while she was on a cruise. She had one of those chairs that ran up the side of the staircase, and we would take turns riding it while we were baked.
My parents generally didn’t snoop through my shit, and flipping through your son’s first high school yearbook honestly doesn’t seem like an invasion of privacy. I also totally understand that if you were flipping through that yearbook and saw, like, a dozen and a half references to the sale and consumption of hallucinogenic mushrooms, you would then search your kid’s room. You would also probably be dumbstruck by how easily you found what you were looking for—an ounce of mushrooms sitting under the bed. Wow, my son is stupid, you would think. And you would not be wrong.
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