Come on, Lochlan! I pulled on his arm but he shook his head and laughed.
I can't feel my arms, Sweetheart. He told me. He can't focus either. Too much beer. I wish he'd drink pop like me but only the clear pop because then nobody burps too much or feels too full.
Come! On! I pull both arms and lose my footing but still he doesn't move. We're going to miss the fireworks!
We'll catch them next year. I'm just happy this run is over. It's time to hit the road.
What will punching the road do? Don't we have to drive on it? On the bus?
Yeah. We do. Hey, where are you going?
I'll watch the fireworks by myself.
Come back here, bridgie.
Can't make me.
I'm in charge. You have to listen to me. Those are the rules.
Can't be in charge when you're...you're beered up.
I think the word you're looking for is drunk.
Drunk is the postscript of drank. I drank. He drunk. You drink.
Yes, I did and I'm sorry. Your English is fucked.
Too many new forwords.
That's foreign words.
I made a port hawkesbury! I put the two words together and-
It's called a portmanteau.
Oh. I get it.
You should have a beer. It would make you sleep like a baby.
I'm not a baby!
Yes, you are.
I give up and slide down the edge of the bed to sit on the floor. Loch was drunk that night and I never got my fireworks and he's drunk tonight and I won't get my answers.
Come on. I shake him. Help me out here.
It serves no purpose other than to wreck things just a little more, Peanut. Things are good. You have what you need. Don't go looking for trouble. It will find you soon enough anyhow.
