During my late teens, we pleasure-seekers drained three-day weekends by flooding our not-yet-fully formed brains with serotonin. Thousands of like-minds, posh and poor, black and white, swarmed a secretly disclosed valley in rural Wales. On the agenda: Swallowing magic pills and pretending to enjoy repetitive dance music set to a thundering 140 bpm.
Drenching your brain in serotonin—the happiness chemical—solves all the problems which have plagued humanity since Plato. MDMA dissolves our primitive origins. From a few thumb-sized dabs of Molly emerges Utopia. No envy. No classes. No strife. No status-seeking. No problems without consensual solutions. This idyll reigns for a day or two. Word soon travels too far.
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