Squiggly swigging Squiggles's chemical script.
"The summer we were gobbling all of Squiggles's white blotter, we'd time our doses to hit at sunset. We'd kick back on the coppery cliffs of Red rocks beneath a hunchbacked pine and watch the sun melt into an immense, resplendant sea. The sky stuck the total chord of the spectrum, from the crimson lump of the slipping orb through the violet haze of the canopy above. And to the east lay the distinct boundary where dusk stopped and evening began to sketch the uncertain hieroglyphs of the stars." - Erik Davis
"The summer we were gobbling all of Squiggles's white blotter, we'd time our doses to hit at sunset. We'd kick back on the coppery cliffs of Red rocks beneath a hunchbacked pine and watch the sun melt into an immense, resplendant sea. The sky stuck the total chord of the spectrum, from the crimson lump of the slipping orb through the violet haze of the canopy above. And to the east lay the distinct boundary where dusk stopped and evening began to sketch the uncertain hieroglyphs of the stars." - Erik Davis
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