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Barf Language

Flynn couldn't understand his friend. He sounded garbled and terrifying.

The front porch swing felt suddenly unsteady beneath him.  He turned into an ooze and slithered to the ground.  He found a wall and stuck to it. The wall may have been the floor.  The people, the porchlights, the dark and the bugs all whirled violently and Flynn knew they'd made an error.  His friend grasped the porch rail tightly, eyes tightly closed.

The morning shift was 8 hours and 100 miles away.  If they wanted to party, they'd have to do it like rockstars.  A half-fifth of Jack Daniels was their only sustenance, and they knew how to make it count.  Each held a glass tumbler full like a massive shot glass. See you on the other side, they said.

The midnight screening was over, and those Kansas kids had invited them to a party in Lawrence.  It was too far, but they each knew instinctively they would go.  They were already packed.

They thought it'd be easier to procure flasks for the movie, but the whiskey sat tucked away in the trunk.  Probably safer there anyway.
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