Narcotic

It was even better than
Mister Softee, when the
mosquito fogging truck
came 'round.  We
would all run
into the street
and chase it,
spinning around
in a cloud of
god-knows-what
chemicals that
left our tract house
surroundings as
momentarily
mysterious as
Foggy Bottom or
Sherlock
Holmes's London.

Few knew at the
time that we
shouldn't be
breathing that
stuff.  We
took to it
like ducks
to water...each
child in his
or her individual
cotton candy
fantasy.

Even parents who
had an inkling
couldn't dissuade
us from the
blurring of
reality, the
softening of
contours  the

clouding of

judgment.