Grass

He opened an eye tentatively, decided his retina wasn't terribly charmed by the image formed, and closed it again. Interesting designs I can see with my eyes closed, he thought. He tried again, this time both his eyes. And found he was looking spot on at a bright floodlight and his fuddled brain decided that was what was forming the designs and that those were better anyway. For a few seconds, brain and retina continued the clash, but by then his neck muscles had churned into action, and he looked away from the floodlight.
And found he was sprawled on dewy wet grass on the football ground, with three of his friends, one of who was still at it. Grass, he thought. Good. And then decided better still, joint. He thought yes, I could use that; and his arm responded slowly and decided to lift up. His friend saw the raised arm and thought...fucker's woken up....now I'll have to share the fucking joint.....I love this fucker...and gave him the joint.
He took the joint and inhaled. Let the weed fill his lungs. And said a little ode to the 1% of his brain cells that were dying courtesy his trip. And thought...I can hear these fuckers breathe man...this is the life...