The drinks were flowing and so was he. Hours had passed since he’d started, hours of throwing back alcoholic concoctions that had now come back to bite him in the ass and leave him cheek-first in a gradually growing puddle of his own vomit. His disorientated mind was only partly conscious of the fact that there was suddenly more people surrounding him that there had been previously. He was only partly aware of the conversations going on around him as an arm sluggishly felt around behind him in search of the needle and small pouch of white powder that he knew were somewhere on the pavement. Whatever he did he wouldn’t allow those to fall into somebody else’s hands.
A shadow fell over the young college student’s face as his stomach convulsed yet again, a small stream of green bile spilling from his lips to mingle with the mess already on the floor in front of him. Not moving from his spot in the vomit puddle, Mikey attempted to glance upwards at the person stood in front of him before giving it up as a hopeless cause. With his hand that was still searching for the desired needle and pouch, he raised it only slightly off the floor in a weak attempt at a wave. “’m’fine,” he said, attempting to wave the person away. “Jus’ need to sleep. Go back to festival and forget me.”
