sloppy foz (part two)

the shower, like everything at 3am after a baker’s dozen drinks and supplemental bowl tokes, seemed to last forever. whatever energy I had rekindled upon the Greek’s sudden arrival was fading fast. naturally I mixed a nightcap. 

my highball all but drained, the Greek burst out of the bathroom not unlike his unannounced entrance thirty minutes prior. he looked just as disheveled, save for a wet head and even less clothing. I immediately guided him to his temporary wardrobe of pajama pants, tee shirt and robe. I was wearing the exact same thing.

“What. The. Fuck. Dude.” 

he replied with giggles, maniacal giggles and his trademark ear-to-ear grin. I would’ve begun to grow impatient had I not been completely, utterly fucked up to the nines.

“Can you drive?” he asked.

“Fuck no, I can’t drive. Why?”

“I’ll drive, then. Can we use your car?”

“Will you explain to me what the fuck is going on if I say ‘yes’?”

he was already halfway out the door. I had no fucking clue where we were going, not to mention pretty much anything else.