“Can you hook me up with some booze?” you say, trying to sound like you know what you’re doing.
“Sure thing, squirt. What’s your poison?” Carla says, walking to what is apparently the designated bar (even though it’s just a stained ping-pong table).
“Uh, that.” You point at an unfamiliar bottle. “That’s my poison.”
Carla picks up the bottle and whistles. “Tequila? That’s some strong stuff. You sure you can handle that?”
You stand up straight and puff out your chest a little.
“Yeah. Hit me with it.”
Carla pulls a little dish out of the cupboard and pours a little tequila into it. She looks at you.
“More.”
Carla raises an eyebrow but pours nonetheless. She sets you down on the worn dining room table, and places the dish next to you. The clear liquid inside is almost up to your neck. The smell pierces your nose and almost makes you gag. You’re beginning to have second thoughts about this.
“Bon appetit,” Carla says.
Unsure of how to handle this, you decide to use it like a bathtub of sorts, only with a dangerous, inhibition-lowering substance instead of bubble bath. You lower yourself into the liquid and take an experimental sip, almost gagging. It tastes like liquid tires, but there’s no turning back now. You begin to drink. Carla calls a bunch of people over and you drink more, hoping to impress them. You drink, and drink, and drink, and eventually you pass out.
You wake up groaning, feeling like your head is being split with an axe. You open your eyes and examine your surroundings. Dark and moist. It smells nasty. It takes a moment for your brain to get its act together, but eventually realize where you are.
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