Originally posted on BooksGoSocial:

Just as sure as Earth hurtles through space in its inexorable orbit around the sun at 67,000 miles per hour while simultaneously rotating on an axial tilt that is perpendicular to its orbital plane, Thomas Benjamin Harding retched with alarming velocity into the glistening porcelain in front of him, his knees perpendicular to the floor beneath his feet.

Janice had spent the afternoon gathering mushrooms not far from the old railway line, heading out on her bicycle after bunking off work for the afternoon. This was not unusual behaviour for a scientist. They had pretty flexible hours and their employers assumed that, since they were geniuses, they could do little harm if their eccentric timekeeping meant inventing a revolutionary drug that could net the shareholders billions. The only problem with this was that she had “accidentally” collected magic mushrooms and, after consuming the greater part of the pot, Tom found…

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