the Attack of the Killer Sidewalks
You didn't have to be brainy Trent Kite to figure out the equation (Quaaludes) + (not even that many beers) = getting whapped by the nearest sidewalk—as in you're walking innocently along down a sidewalk and out of nowhere the sidewalk comes rushing up to meet you: WHAP. Happened time after fucking time.
Context
The intoxication rendered as gallows arithmetic — the whole two-year methaqualone brown-out compressed into an equation whose sum is the pavement rushing up to meet you. The comedy is real and so is what it hides: an era erased into "the vague era of The Attack of the Killer Sidewalks," a mnemonic hole where the memories should be, which is the substance quietly deleting the years it runs.