Sex, Drugs & No Idea

4: Epiphanies

Charlie woke early the next morning and rose ever so unhurriedly to the surface of full consciousness. Happily, his recollection of the previous evening was abnormally unblemished and he was able to forgo his usual post-merrymaking surroundings check.

Charlie walked out into the lounge to find Hugo already up and about. Or still up and about.

"Uh, man, I've got to wash my hairs," was what his friend opened with.

Still up then, Charlie thought.

"What?" Charlie said.

"I said, I've got to wash my hairs," Hugo replied, as Charlie sat heavily on the sofa and reached for the teapot.

"Your hairs?"

"Yeah."

"You realise that you don't have to acknowledge all of your individual hairs, Hugo," Charlie said. "Collectively, you just call it hair."

"Someone's in a mood."

"Look, I'm just saying that when you say hairs it makes you sound like a bit of a mongoloid. Makes me feel like you think you're in for a big job of it, giving each of your hairs a good scrub. One at a time sort of thing. It's weird." Charlie stirred a dash of milk into his tea.

"You're fucking weird," Hugo grunted.

"Sorry. Think I might've had a bit too much MDMA last night. Bit scatterbrained."

"Bloody oath," Hugo agreed. "Jesus, I feel a bit crook."

Charlie looked sideways at him. "Yeah, you do look like a bag of hammered shit." He put the teaspoon back on the tray, picked up the remote and turned the idiot-box on.

"Ah, classic. I fucking love Con Air," Hugo said and settled himself back on the sofa next to Charlie.

"How was the rest of your evening?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah, it was all good, mate. Same old same old. Hung out with Dang until he felt like he had to bail out."

"Because he had to go to work?"

"Nah, because he tried to run a bit of game."

"Disaster?" Charlie asked, taking a sip of earl grey.

"He was having a fair go," Hugo admitted. He paused to take a fortifying swig of tea as, onscreen, Nicholas Cage kicked the shit out of a bunch of rednecks. "I stepped in as wingman, but unfortunately the friend of the girl that he was trying to crack onto was dull as hell––honestly, mate, waiting for that chick to say something interesting was like waiting for a rocking horse to take a dump ––so I went out and had a ciggy. When I came back, I was just in time to hear Dang say about the woman's knockers, and then she threw her drink at him."

"Bit clichéd," Charlie said.

"That's what I thought."

"She didn't hesitate at all?"

"For her, it was the work of a moment."

Charlie finished his earl grey and reached for his pack of cigarettes. "And then you left?"

Hugo sniffed and looked at him. "Well I had to."

"Why?"

"Because the silly sheila was so drunk that instead of hitting Dang with her drink she managed to drench me."

"Get out of it!"

Hugo stood up, finished his cup of tea with a slurp, and with tremendous emphasis wiped a finger through his hair and tasted it.