Left side of his face plastered against the window, Simon had been asleep the moment he slid into the back of the van. Last night had been...wild. No excuses, no limits...just a wild going away party that had stretched well into the morning. The turn out had been favorable, thirty people packed into the small apartment with enough alcohol to kill them all twice over strewn through the kitchen like a menagerie of glasswork. Try as he might, Simon couldn't remember what he'd done from midnight to three A.M...and alcohol awareness be damned, he was proud of that. Let them tell stories of the King Richard's last Hoorah. Let none say Simon Banks didn't know how to let it all out when the chips were down.
Or the booze bottles were up...as it were.
Honestly it was a miracle he had made the trek from 20th Bakers street to 5th and Bolin in the state he'd been in...weaving sidestep by sidestep through a murky haze with a sense of urgency he wished he'd had around 2...when he should have begun his journey. After answering the add for a road trip on Craig's List, Simon had celebrated the savings he would make in a cross country trip rather then a short plane ride for almost quadruple the money.
Now here he lay, alcohol induced coma straight into the van window looking for all the world like some grotesque experiment floating in an industrial sized ether jar.
It was Susan who woke him, her voice snapping him back to reality with a jerk and a wince, his skin snapping slightly as he tore it from the window. Rubbing his cheek, he blearily tried to shake the hangover out of his head...failing utterly and groaning.
What was it his old roomate used to say? Davy...Davy Roderick, that was the guy. One morning Simon had woke with the hangover of hangovers...a sort of crippling pain that laid him out flat in his bed and demanded his every move to be short.
"Get your ass up Simon," Davy had said then, pulling Simon lethargically squirming to the ground. "Don't be a fucking pussy, just do something to get your mind off of your headache, works for me and hell if it won't work for you."
So maybe a car game would be better then sitting here and suffering.
"Yeah...sure..." Simon croaked groggily with a half smile "What did you have in mind? Twenty questions? Grandmother's Basket? ABC I Spy?" The sounded retarded in retrospect...where was the risk of it all...where was the padiddle nudity?
Probably hidden in the deep recess of his suffering migraine induced brain.
Kids games would work for now.