'The nights are rough, yeah.'

Not bothering to side-step any of the puddles in his path, Everette's attention wandered from his listless homeward stroll; and strayed aimlessly before retreating to the beginning of the day. Around six in the morning he'd awoken in his roommate's bed, confounded and paralyzed in the grip of a hangover. Forcefully blinking and rolling his eyes to bring them to focus, he first noticed a gray hue seaming the white, infirmary-like walls of the room; telling of a dreary and demure dawn. Everette struggled against his phantom captor to stretch or sit up or yawn, but, enfeebled by its clamoring presence, could muster only a tiny, exhausted fart. He chortled in spite of a throbbing head-ache and with this capricious act felt the tension of his limbs relax; allowing him to stretch and sit up and break the pin of his massive hang-over. Putting his bare feet to the cold, overly lacquered hardwood floor, and roughly applying the heels of his hands into the blood-shot holes below his wrinkled brow, Everette struggled to recall how he'd ended up in Mike's bed. Then a voice spoke from somewhere in the grayish haze behind him, but he ignored it, taking it for an echo from his still not too remote unconsciousness. Its reiteration, clear, present and masculine, caused him to jump out of bed, and fall backwards into a bookshelf sending quite a number of candles from the top of the shelf crashing loudly to the floor; all the while covering and protecting his genitals in frightened bewilderment. The voice grew a body which then sat up and turned on a reading lamp - whose head had been knocked eschew by all of Everette's asinine commotion. And it was Mike who quickly shielded its bright, curious stare from Everette's stunned nakedness. And it was Mike who'd moments ago just asked him what time it was - twice. And it was Mike, the night before, who had struggled like hell to rouse the unconscious intruder, and then only to fail in imploring Everette to get out of his bed and to get sleep in his own. And it was Mike who consented to let Everette sleep in his bed so long as Everette didn't 'try to pull any weird, touchy shit.' And it was Mike who barely slept a wink next to his snoring, rolling, kicking, flailing, drunk, and haunted friend. But it was Everette, at that moment, who felt the worst.

'Mike, I'm so sorry. I have no ide-'
'Dude, you gotta just get out.'
'Okay, man, okay - yeah, you're right. I just gotta get out of here, and I'll clean this up in the morning, and I'll just get all - man, I'm really fucking sorry, dude.'
'Dude - '
'Yeah, man?'
'You just gotta get out. You just gotta get out right now before I freak out, you just gotta get out.'
'Okay, man. I'm outta here. I'm sorry. Okay. Sorry. I'm going. I'm outta here right now, dude. I'm sorry. Sorry, sorry. Okay. I'm -'
'Get the fuck out of my room!'