You gather up a nice throbbing mound of Bacteria. You dry and cure it like you would a marijuana plant. It's all dried and ready for your vintage wooded pipe hand carved by your great grandfather, a full bloodied Crumpataco Indian. You light the dead life and inhale deeply. The taste is like the most bitter and moldy cheese all green with fuzz. You cough and cough and vomit. You nearly die there on the floor, puking for hours, hardly able to breathe. But during this time your head swirls with visions. A nightmare delirium comes over you. Somewhere along the way you have lost all your clothes, busted out a car window and finally fell convulsing onto the street. You wake up in a dimly lit hospital. No sounds at all except distant beeps and rolling carts.