Re: Swamp mud cocktail...

> Who?: Keith&Kyla again
> Where?: Parrot's
> When?: How many times? 1984!!!
says it all, really
<snip>
> And the evening went on like that for the entire preperation crew.
</snip>
Swamp mud tasty yes indeed very moreish drink and drink and whoops
where's the ceiling. Hit the floor and don't spill, the bartender
looks up and it's just a jump to the left, a jump to the left, a jump
to the left, and the fecking jukebox is stuck. Kick it to stop it
skipping. Swamp mud like fine wine. Swamp mud, and more and more and
more and the disco lights and the disco ball and shattered light
crystals spinning on the walls.
Kyla was lying on her back on the floor, which was covered in rings
from the bottom of her frequently refilled glass. Somewhere above her
forehead she could sense Keith, who was stretched out, the top of his
head just touching hers.
"Keith..."
"Kyla?"
"Why is the room spinning?"
"It isn't," Keith said after several minutes of thought, "we are."
"We are what?"
"Spinning. I think," Keith said, "that is what we're doing."
"Oh," said Kyla. "Good."
There was a long and, for the most part, peaceful pause. A skutter
came by with fresh drinks. It wasn't too hard to drink lying flat on
your back, as long as you didn't mind a slightly damp face afterwards.
"Keith?" Kyla said again.
"Kyla?"
"I think I'd like to stop spinning now."
Then she rolled over and threw up. Jackson Pollock would've loved it.
<tag Keith, or anyone who wants to come and be disapproving of the
lushes>
OOC: The first section is stream of consciousness, if you couldn't
tell. My Creative Writing class got cancelled today, so I'm
inflicting it on y'all.