Tony opened his mouth, his body wretched as he spewed out a hot stream of ‘never ending’ sick, as it then splashed across the table which was
where his head once lay.
“OHHH! TONNIII!!!!!!!....OHH!, YOU…. you ff#in bastard!” squawked a voice that was all too uncomfortably familiar. “You’ve got ff#ing sick
all down my tights!”
Tony sat up straight, his head swam, throbbed, the nausea wave hit him again and he then let out another stomach emptying barf. This one thankfully
was dry, but it instead let out a gut wrenching, rasping, gargle . Nothing could have possibly been left inside his stomach to throw up.
“ TONY!!!...OH! FOR FFF#S sake!” that voice screeched again. “My #ing tights!..... 25 quid these cost me! …………You dirty #ing
His vision stabilised and was met with the very icy glare from the girl now sitting opposite him. The still swirling haze brought on by the taste of
alcohol and fresh sick seemed to have a life of its own.
“ Sorry, I …..” another wretch doubled him over, almost head-butting the empty pint glass a few inches from his forehead.
The squawks of disgust and protest from the girl opposite went unnoticed, he felt like #.
He wiped his wet mouth with his hand and sat up right again, only to be met with another wave of dizziness and nausea.
“You look like #ING #!” came the voice opposite, in pure spite. “ Can’t hold your drink, don’t #ing drink so much!...
Oh, look at my #ING TIGHTS! …IT’S ALL OVER MY #ING SHOES AN’ALL!!!!” Her voice became ever higher in pitch, threatening to make his head
explode with every raised decibel that seemed to break new barriers in sound.
“For #s sake Lil, I can’t help it, I’m sorry, alright” the ‘alight’ didn’t sound very apologetic, he wasn’t capable of empathising
about a pair of tights. His head hurt, bad.
“Here, wipe that off!” The shoe missed his face by inches, bounced off the head rest behind him and landed on the empty seat beside him.
“BLOODY HELL LIL!.... there’s no need for that!” Tony, feeling a little bad about the now visible lumps of vomit clinging; now dropping off from
the toe of her shoe.
Another exasperated sigh lead him to believe that this wasn’t going to be forgotten, for a very long time.
“Well, it was your #ing fault!...... Making me drink so much in the first place!” he shot back in protest, pointing to the empty bottles of wine
and empty glasses which littered the table, that and the wet sick, which he tried not to look at.
“ME!” she snapped back, “YOU shouldn’t have been necking the dirty dregs from the left over glasses on the bar!...you dirty #ing bastard!”
The nausea hit him again, surely he hadn’t done that. It was something he hadn’t done since his early university days, when money was short, often
standing at the bar with his drinking buds, but not now.
“No! No waay!” he said in protest, pointing at the numerous bottles on the table not realising he was actually pointing to the big pile of sick
A pitiful moan from his left distracted both of them, as a head then neck and body shot up like a person who’d suddenly had twenty thousand vaults
of electricity rammed up his backside.
“Mark!” Tony half laughed, now seeing a lump of sick that had not only reached his forehead but it was now firmly attached.
“YOUU!!” the girl opposite Tony accusingly squawked.
“You,…. you #ing pissed on my handbag!”
“Huh?....yeah” , he laid back down; only to be met with the other shoe that seemed to be a direct hit against the lump of sick on his fore-head
which was soon followed by a zebra-print handbag with gold straps.
“ Oh!!.... MARK!.... MAN!” Tony protested, as the stench of urine now noticeable from beneath the table wafted up to his awakening nostrils. “
Not again MARK!....Come one!”
The moan from Mark said it all, yes, he’d pissed himself, yet again, and he didn’t care. The last time was on Tony’s Mom’s settee after his
21st birthday. Mark blamed it on the Tony’s dog but with the amount of urine that seemed to penetrate through the settee, the dog would have had to
have held on to that load for a week for it to be possible.
“GREAT!, Juust #ING GREAT¬!!!!” the screech protested. “
“Calm down Lil!” Tony realised how stupid that sounded.
“CALM DOWN….CALM DOWNN! I’ve got #ing sick on my tights and piss on my #ING HANDBAG!!!, …… you stupid #ing muppet! Calm down?!....#
Tony couldn’t respond, how could he? She had a point.
He should have got the last taxi home, one which was booked by Lil until the chance of a lock-in, seeing as Mark has been tasked to lock the bar up,
following the sudden sickness of his boss. Although it had been a quiet night in terms of trade, they’d stuck to their promise, and worked their way
through all the bottles of booze, starting from the upper left hand corner to the right. Then they started on the wine cabinet.
The promise was made with an old friend Jonty. Something he’d said he wished he’d been able to do at any bar but didn’t get the chance to do so.
He got hit by a bus and ended up hospital for six weeks with multiple injuries.
Upon recovering and on the way out of the hospital, amongst friends, he made the promise that they’d down every drink in Munchies Bar/Club, which
they now were in. Sadly, three steps later an incontinent lady in a wheel chair let one slip as she sped past in a hurry to have a cigarette and his
crutch slipped, cracking his head off the cigarette trash can. It split his head open and, well he died.
The promise was to be kept, which was why there were there. Half wake, half promise. It felt like an un-dead promise but no-one complained. Until
A loud bang on the front door of the small dance club interrupted the now resentful group of old friends
Mark sat back up again, bleary eyed and now almost alert.
Another loud bang, followed by another, intensified the attention to the stairway, which led, from their alcove on the second floor to the glass
“#, who’s that?” Mark said.
“Probably the scum from Walsby Estate wanting their breakfast” Lil quipped, totally missing the point that she had a drink problem.
Another bang echoed from downstairs.
“#, what time is it?” Mark said.
“Who gives a #ing #!” Lil # back, “Look at the state of me!” now pointing to her tights, then shoes then handbag now scattered under the
“#, what if it’s Andy?” Mark worriedly said, in a now hushed voice, with a sick covered finger hovering over his lips.
Tony felt bad.
Another loud intrusive bang against the glass door rang out, squashing any thought in process.
“For #s SSAAkE,….WE’RE…. #ING…. CLOSED!!!!!, GO TO THE #ING oFFIE!, you dried up alchie bastards” Lil screamed, head pointed towards the
The banging intensified making her sit back, quieten and look almost concerned.
“I’m screwed! That’s Andy! You shouldn’t be here, look how much you’ve drunk!” he said now staring at the empty bottles on the table.
Lil looked sternly at him and slowly said, “ You #ing….. stupid…. little bastard…..He’s got a #ing KEY! Why’d he be banging on the #ing
door you stu….”
Her sentence was cut short by the sound of what seemed like a second person banging on the glass door downstairs.
All three turned their initial concerned glance at where the noise was coming from towards each other.
“Well go on then…Tell them to # off.” Lil said to Mark whilst motioning for him .......
edit on 21-5-2012 by Tykonos because: (no reason