Getting High with Odd Thomas

One of my fellow bloggers has taken to mentioning Dean Koontz and this book Odd Thomas for quite some time so I decided to take him up on it and read the damn thing. I liked it. I liked it alot. Not only do I love Koontz references to classic literature (William Blake, hells yeah) but the story is masterfully crafted. Great, now I sound like a pretentious asshole.

Anyway, this isnt a book review. If you like good stories, I recommend it. However, this is about getting high. No, for those of you out there who dont me, I didnt really get high. Unless you consider reading a quality book akin to the hallucinogenic high that comes from smoking herb, then yes, I did get high on good literature.

I checked out Odd Thomas from the library and have been reading it straight for a week and half now. Except for the occasional Arrested Development show, it has become the essential part of my daily bedtime routine. Brush. Floss. Wash Face. Curl up with Thomas. With 100 pages left to go, I realized that the book was due today. With a break from work, I decided to plop myself on my deck with a glass of water, cigarettes and the steely resolve to finish Odd Thomas before noon.
After 50 pages or so, I knew the goal was in sight. Thomas has just discovered a body and...well, I wont ruin it but it was a good, good part. As I flip to the next chapter I spot something pressed into the creases of the book. It was green with a slight hint of orange. At first I thought, oh great, a booger. Thats rich. And original. Some idiot didnt like the book so he picked his nose and left his nasty green gooze in between the pages for people like me to find.

Looking closely, I realized it was not a booger. It lacked the sticky consistency of a booger. Rather than attach itself to my finger, this "booger" crumbled like the Walls of Jericho. Because, like all humans, we have a fascination with all things gross, I began to poke and prod and like a 3 year old kid, I let some of this "booger" linger on my finger and slowly drew it up to my nose.

The distinct smell of mary jane hit me square in the face and I think I may have accidentally snorted a piece of it in nose during my "holy crap, its weed" reaction. I picked at it some more and noticed the small trappings of weed crammed into the spine of the book. I laughed. The idea of some high school pothead reaching the climax of Oddie's story, freaking out and promptly rolling a doobie to offset the drama is, in fact, hilarious.

Curious to find out more, I flipped through more pages and noticed small specks of greenery lining the spine of the next several pages. Wanting be a 100% percent sure of my discovery, I jammed the book into my nose, inhaling and exhaling that rotting skunk smell. This was weed all right. Real cannabis.

Still reeling, I finished the book. I'm about to return it to the library this afternoon and part of me would love to walk up and say, "Excuse me, but someone left some weed in this book, its not me, but I thought you should know." Or "I believe some lowlife street thugs are using this paragon of literature to traffic drugs."

Perhaps I'll just quietly slip the book into the large steel dropbox and leave it for the next patrons. Maybe a little high will brighten their day.