Of the many dangers that drug users must face, the chance of ending up stoned and wandering around Moby’s house in the Hollywood Hills probably isn’t one of them. Until now.
“i wake up at 7 a.m. i walk in to my living room. i freeze. there’s someone standing next to my couch.
“me: ‘uh, who are you??’
me: ‘what are you doing here?’
him: ‘i’m here’
me: ‘i think you should probably leave’
him: ‘ok’. then he sat down.
me: ‘i think you should leave’
him: ‘ok’. continues sitting.
me: ‘is everything ok?’
him: ‘i might still be on acid’
“so i gave him a sweatshirt (it’s chilly up in the hills) and some money for breakfast and sent him on his way. apparently he had taken a lot of acid the night before, had seen my house from the street, and decided to pay an acid inspired visit… i’ve decided that locking my doors might be a good thing. i know, who doesn’t lock their doors? well, i don’t. or didn’t .”
Two things can be gleaned from this missive from Moby: One, Moby is apparently the nicest human being on the planet (dude gave his stoned intruder some warm clothes and cash instead of, say, calling the police); and two, perhaps the guy ought to invest in a couple of dead-bolt locks. Maybe an electronic security system. A series of strung up paint cans a la Home Alone. Something. Or maybe just lock those doors from now on.
What do you think of Moby’s story?