It really could have just been a continuation of the night. Fell asleep on their couch, four blankets, only one small piece of ground beef left on the table from our slightly illegally obtained feast.
We were in a bar. I kept on taking pictures, trying to get the bartender to match poses with the bear cutout moving across the top shelf, like a target at a fairground shooting game, stuck in a hula-la pose, arms waving to one side. Each picture I got made me laugh.
We went upstairs, to the hotel-dormitory above the bar, and started to cook a meal. I saw you, wearing a hairnet very similar to Scary Spice's 90's hair cones. Your girlfriend was stunningly gorgeous and madly sane. You ignored us, even though we had been talking loudly about you. I hoped you didn't hear.
I've lost my friends, and am with a married couple I vaguely know. He's lying on top of me. She's watching.
Now, he is going to lick up your leg, and you're going to enjoy it, she says. She does. He does. I don't, but feign interest as his tongue runs up my thigh, past my hip, beard tracing scratches in my skin.
I go downstairs, to the bar, to discover the bartender has been devoured by a bear.
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