I was having one hell of a party one night, and this was over thirty years ago, when someone told me there was a woman in distress in the sunroom. My apartment at that time was in a house built in the 1800s, it was huge, impossible to heat or cool properly, but it had a sunroom. I had a bed in the room, a sofa, bean bags, and it was a great place to just chill.

The woman in question was not chilling.

She had taken too much of something, or more than enough or too many things, and was in the first stages of having a bad trip of some sort. I grabbed a large book of artwork and started showing her photos of famous art, and she began to relax, but she seemed to be itching.

“I can feel things crawling one me, but no one can see them,” she told me.

“So what’s more likely, there are things there you can feel and not see, or that you feel things that aren’t there?” I asked.

“It’s more like they are invisible than nonexistent, because invisibly would be an attribute of a creature while nonexistence wouldn’t be,” she said instantly. “They might be there all the time, and we can only feel them when we’re high.”

I’ve never been the same after that conversation.