Let's do this. (Kratom, that is.)
I live in New Orleans, where kratom is legal, just like drive-thru daiquiri shops. It's a beautiful place. I went to my local head shop and inspected its kratom menu, which has peppy, colorful fonts describing "house blends," loose powders, and capsules with names like Bali, Borneo, and Malay, as well as "OPMs" (organically purified mitragyna speciosa extract). It was all a bit overwhelming, so I asked the guy behind the counter for help.
"How many should I take? Should I eat beforehand?" I asked, all too aware that I sounded like a n00b.
"Have you done many opiates?" he asked casually, the way someone at a fast-food chain might ask if you'd like fries with your order.
"Some, but it's been a long time."
"Try seven or eight capsules," he advised.
I looked at the horse vitamin-sized pills. That sounded like a lot. "Where do you get this stuff, anyway?"
He said he couldn't reveal his sources. "It took me six months to track these down," he said, adding that bunk kratom is rampant online, but this stuff was the real deal.
That night, I swallowed two 7.5g capsules of Malay, but I was already a few bowls deep, so it was hard to tell what was actually going on. I thought I felt something, though. A few days later, I swallowed six Bali capsules. Fewer than the guy at the head shop recommended, but I wasn't trying to trigger a spell of nausea or a psychotic episode.