Whoo boy am I drunk. And whoo boy am I stoned. I'm stoned and I'm drunk and I'm drunk and I'm stoned and ah-yah-yah-yah! Where's my chair? Where's my ass? Where's my drink, goddamnit? Someone keep the room still! Ah-yah-yah!

Fran looks at me and squints. "Are you okay?" she asks, and Jesus, how do I answer that question? Yes, no. Maybe. I want to fuck Eric. No. I want Eric to love me and he never will, he never never, where's my drink? What was I talking about? God, I'm so stoned. My head is filled with helium and is just sort of bobbing about in the air of its own free will.

"Could we," I start to say, then stop. "Could we get out of here? You know, just hang out somewhere quiet?"

"I just live around the corner," Fran says. "We could go make some food or something."

I pause, then sigh. "Okay," I say, and pick up my bag.