"Are you planning on riding up there?" Willet seems curious but unconcerned "Absolutely, can you pass me a beer?" Willet hands up a can of bud and the car lurches off into the street and away. Soon I'm clinging for dear life to the fingertip-wide edge of the windshield with the bulletproof cheer of the truly intoxicated. I appraise my situation while the world shrieks by me at 80 kph, decide that all is well, and call for another beer to be sent up. Willet pops up, sitting on the edge of the passenger window and hands me another can of beer. "We're going fast." He observes.
"Yeah. Pretty fast." I gingerly crack the can open with one hand and begin swilling from it while the wind makes my eyes tear and lights swim by like crazed fireflies on a tequila bender. We're suddenly braking hard and the can sails away from me, skipping off the hood before disappearing under the car. "Crap," I announce to no one in particular. The car sails on, now with Willet out on the roof as well. "Stop the car!" I holler at our mysterious driver, causing an abrupt deceleration that threatens to shake Willet and I free of earth's surly bonds. After we come to a stop and have a chance to regain our momentarily shaken composure, I point to the giant metal framework of the suspension bridge directly in front of us. "Willet, man, we have to climb that thing, immediately." Willet eyeballs the three or four stories of girders that rise above the bridge deck. "Ok!" he chirps and is off towards the bridge at a run. Our driver is yelling something from back at the car but he has already largely ceased to exist. We race up the girders and ladders (or some kind of ladder-like structures) with wild-monkey abandon, until we find ourselves perched atop the bridge. Below us a sea of twinkling lights is shimmering in the warm night and a police cruiser appears to have stopped to chat with our driver. We decide to kick back, wait, and see if things work themselves out. They do and the police car drives away a few minutes later. Somehow or other we race back down and regain our positions atop the car, which careens off into the night. Our driver is yelling something angry sounding at us, but I'll be damned if I can make out what it is. At our next party I pile into a case of beer offered by a friendly but mysteriously fuzzy-looking individual. "You're drinking more?" Willet observes with mild surprise, "you're going to be doing some puking. "God I hope so, this much booze will probably kill me if I don't." At some point we retreat to the car to go home, however our ungrateful driver has long since vanished so I crawl under a little blanket and sleep in the back seat while Willet crashes in the front, or on the lawn, or something. Sometime after dawn Willet is waking me up to attempt to go home. I look down at myself and realize that I'm covered in black smudges. "What the hell is this?" I'm somewhat confused. "Oil, Shaggy. You slept on my oil change blanket." "Oh. I hope you can drive, because I sure can't."
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Booze
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