I'm pretty sure this is the latest it's ever been and Chris Browning would want to know. That guy appreciates important moments in history. That's what makes him a golden god. He'd understand how fucking late it was and how great we were for being a part of it.

I have no idea when the party ended, but I persevered by going shot for shot with myself. Like all good things though, it's best to be sleeping in your own bed when they come to an end. I dropped my drink and headed for the door. At first, I couldn't find my keys anywhere. Then I sloppily fell into the open top of my convertible and saw them eyeing me from the ignition.

As I pulled away, I looked at the phone in my hand and somehow managed to begin scrolling through my address book while keeping half an eye on the road at all times. I hit the C's and pressed send. It rang. It rang again. Answering machine.

"Hi, this is Bella. I can't come to the phone right now, but if you leave a message, Ill get back to you as soon as possible." *Beep*

"Bella? I was trying to call Chris. I love you too though. I just had something important to tell him. But you…. You are the best ever. We should get together soon and get some beef on a stick. You get some sleep now. I'll talk to you later."

The cold night made me wonder why the top was down, but there was no time to try to put it back up at this point. I was shivering my ass off. I attempted to put the heat on. Unfortunately, none of the buttons seemed to be working, so I decided to forget about it and try Chris again. Again, the phone rang and a tired but familiar male voice answered.





"No, it's Dad."

"Oops, go back to bed, Dad, and sleep soundly knowing that your son is doing great things." This last sentence may have been muffled by the drool bubble that had somehow gotten lodged in my nose while still in my mouth.

"Are you okay, Eric?"

"I've never been okay-er. Sleep well." *Click*

I turned and looked back at the road. This may have been my hardest drive ever. The pavement never seemed so far away as tonight. The yellow lines appeared to be hiding and the high beams didn't seem to be working. The steering wheel was giving me trouble, constantly pulling left. I had to use my elbows to try to keep it mostly straight while holding the phone in both hands. Then, I heard a voice at the other end of my phone.

"CHRIS?!" I shouted.

"What? No, this is Capital Cab."

"No cab. Driving. Why are you calling me?"

"You called us. I think you have the wrong number."

"No, I think you have the wrong number. Stop calling me." *Click* Assholes.

I realized at this point that I would continue to have near misses with my phone book unless I stopped driving. I slammed on the brakes and gave my full attention to my phone. Finally, I came across "Chris B" and carefully pressed send twice, just to make sure it would connect. It rang. Thank god. It rang again. A pissed off voice answered the phone.

"What the fuck, dude?"

"CHRISSSSSS, I love you man. Do you have any idea how hard it was to call you?"

"Seriously Eric, what the fuck?"

"I'm just driving home, thought I'd call to let you know how late it is. You'll remember this moment forev-"

"You're driving right now? Wasted?"

"I'm not wasted, I'm totally in cont-"

"If you ever call me at 5:30 in the morning again, you better be dead. Eat a dick." *Click*

At that moment, nothing mattered anymore. I had lost my will to be drunk and important. I was about to give up on the world when I heard a crash and felt myself falling. And then…nothing.

I awoke in a daze wondering if last night had all just been a bad dream. The reality checklist, however, began to hit me in waves.

The party was at my house last night.

I don't own a car.


My brain ebbed and flowed with the horror that something terrible had happened. My mind attempted to race with guilt, but could only manage to stumble and then fall over.

Where the fuck are my clothes?

Why do I have something distinctively rubber lodged in my ass that appears to have ripped a hole in me?

And then I had the feeling like I was being watched, not by god, but it occurred to me that he was probably taking in his morning java to the sight of me surveying the damage from the night before. I looked up far enough to see two little feet staring at me in footie pajamas. I also began to notice that these feet were crying.


Other feet began to approach, much bigger this time, and with a look like like they were about to kill me.

"Eric? What did you do? Alex, go inside, I don't want you seeing this."

"Ugggghh," I mumbled, trying to express the sound of death.

"You are going to have to pay for this, Eric."

"Pay for what?"

"Alex's Power Wheels, you idiot. You're lying bare-assed on its remains."


I gingerly rolled over and stared at my hot ride from the night before. It was true. I was indeed on top of a pile of toy car. Somehow, I managed to get on my feet, but the 4-inch tire was lodged so tightly in my ass that I couldn't stand up straight. I was going to need help and I was probably going to have to say "one in a million chance, doc" before the day was over. But I deserved it. Drinking and driving is no joke.

I picked up my cell phone and scrolled through my address book and hit send. A voice picked up.


"Hi, Capital Cab? I need to go to the hospital."