Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Tales from the Sapling (Part 4)
By the luck of the wind I had managed to guide myself into more open terrain. My peers seemed rather content nestled in their own little circle of fists, feet, and puke. I fell back into the nearest open stool. As my rump sunk into the heavenly cushion, my eyes dropped down to my feet, per habit. Apparently I had stepped in a puddle of puke without realizing it. "Hope my employer doesn't ask for his boots back". I must have laughed because I soon heard a slight, tenor voice "Never knew a sober man to laugh at puke on his boots." I froze, my face falling flat as I heard an orchestra of laughter building at the remark. I had happened across another group, and, if they were anything like my friends, I was about to be a few teeth shorter before the hour was out.