In 1980, I took alot of acid (See PERMANENT WAVES post). One time, I ate five hits of window pane acid at a freind's house on E. 89th St. in Manhattan, then had to commute to Long Island. I started "peaking" on the subway to Penn station, while still on the east side subway line.
I had this feeling as if my brain was on fire, or exploding, and wondered why I didn't look like my "Solaris" character, with flames for hair. I'm sure I looked scary, but probably not in a good way. I still weighed 120 pounds at 18 years old, and was doing my best to look "cool" in the reflection from the subway's window pane.
I got off at 42nd St, to catch the west side shuttle, but couldn't find it. I saw the 7 train, but wasn't sure if it was an alternative (it is). Hey, I was trippin', and starting to have a "bad" trip, in the subway system I had been travelling most of my young life. I finally decided that I would go ask a cop for directions. Did I mention I was trippin'?
Just as I found a cop to ask for directions, the sign appeared like magic above his head: "Shuttle to Times Square." Once safely on my West Side, I finished my trip to Penn Station, and back out to Freeport without incident... unless this was the same night I got on the LIRR train that made Seaford it's first stop. Naah. I was trippin' that night, too, but I'll tell it in another post.
The point here is to try to recall as much of this jumbled year (1980) as I can. Eventually, I will find some way to put this part of my story in order. These are mostly "small" anecdotes, but they are bricks in a huge wall.