He found the right gate, tied the twine to the end post and drew the gate open, tying it in place and hoping it'd stay at least, firing off a mass text. He checked the messages one more time and tucked it into his pocket without a response, shouldering the bag and hitting a fast jog right down the path straight as an arrow-- not too fast that he couldn't put on the brakes if he missed something due to hallucinations, but eating ground because really? He'd experienced the hallucinations enough by now that they weren't the highlight at the moment.
"Hi, Jack--" he panted at one that looked vaguely familiar. "No, I haven't heard back from her. I guess you're just going to have to go ask her yourself or give up. Really should think about backing off, being too damn need's a major buzzkill for the ladies.
"Hey, Martha, add sugar to your grocery list--" This one was wearing one of those little tidy hats women had in photos from the 1950s.
He kept going, amusing himself, speeding up at last after he'd gotten his sea legs under the effect of the drug. He hit the door and dropped his bag, making touchdown hands, or at least what he imagined touchdown hands were, because he didn't fucking watch football. "YEAH! Now I need the fucking pool. Whew. Whipping my ass back in shape here."