You're probably already fucked up, and then somebody sprinkles a pink powder on the coffee table, and obviously you snort it, and soon you're falling, maybe not into a "hole" or anywhere else in particular, but you're falling, very rapidly, and the room is not really spinning, but dividing itself into cubistic angles that your head keeps banging into, and everything you try and grab to regain your balance atomizes into fluorescent dust and then reforms as a budding flower that tickles your nose, just before shooting off like a blurry comet, only to be replaced by the image of Nikita Kruschev laughing in your face and banging his shoe maniacally like a 60-year-old Dutch gabber kid. And vets give this shit to horses to tranquilize them. Damn, horses are badass.
Yes, for a time during the '90s, ketamine, a.k.a. Special K, was an extremely popular "club drug"; and while MDMA had been outlawed in 1985, K wasn't classified under the Controlled Substances Act until 1999. So, yeah. Of course, the shit does have legit therapeutic uses and can alleviate depression in a controlled environment, but during the '90s, that environment was more likely some skeeve's grotty flophouse or an abandoned warehouse (or storage unit or barn or under-construction grocery store or disused jungle golf or what-have-you). And as mentioned above, you were probably already fucked up, and some dreamy, sweaty, bug-eyed girl or boy dressed like a giant piece of toast (who would be employed in marketing in 10 years) was trying to get you to dance to Sasha and Digweed. For further info, consult the film Party Monster and heed the sad parable of Macaulay Culkin. C.A.