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“I don’t know where we are; somewhere Leila brought us. Sarah’s here too but I think she’s dead.” I watch as she slides ungracefully off the bar where her body previously was, and she ends up in a disheveled heap on the floor, behind her bar stool between two men who are seemingly ignoring her. For someone who thinks Sarah might’ve died I don’t seem overly concerned. I trip toward her a little, stooping to see if she’s breathing, almost losing my balance, and nearly fall on top of her. “Never mind. She’s just snoring,” I slur down the phone with a dramatic sigh of relief. I slump down on my knees beside her to peel what looks like a beer mat off her cheek.

Yay, my friend isn’t dead after all. But that is disgusting.

I hold the beer mat out in front of me and squint, looking at the blurry, sticky vile thing, before tossing it casually over my shoulder and rub my hands, on Sarah’s