Q Hussie [verified] - Shrooms

The rain over the Pacific Northwest had the quality of a held breath—soft, endless, gray. Q, whose real name was Quincy but who hadn't answered to that in years, sat cross-legged on a rotting log. In his palm rested three small, golden-capped mushrooms, their stems bruised a deep, oceanic blue where he'd pinched them.

He stood up, his joints popping. His phone buzzed in his pocket. A text from his sister: "You alive out there?" shrooms q hussie

Not metaphorically. The bark on the Douglas firs developed vertical gills, expanding and contracting in slow, synchronous waves. The moss at their roots glowed a phosphorescent chartreuse. Q felt his spine unlock, vertebrae by vertebrae, as if someone were unzipping him from the base of his skull. The rain over the Pacific Northwest had the