SomeWhere On... (BXB)

...Victoria Street

It's nine fourty-five. I should know. I've checked my phone five times already. Granted, I'm also a little buzzed from the station's bar, so I'm not entirely sure how I wasn't hit by a bus.

I also checked the theatre's marquee three times.

And Google Maps-checked the place so I wouldn't get lost.

Again, I'm not super drunk. Just buzzed.

Fuck, my head's spinning.

Apparently, I'm late because the crowd in front of the theater begins thinning out. There's a bunch of people who look around Murph and Adrian'sage, but I don't see them. They see me, though. I've never actually seen people try to avoid someone else like those people. And they try real hard, too.

I don't see Murph. Or Adrian.

I check my phone.

The group chat tells me Adrian's gotten sick during the first act. That was at about eight-thirty. Why the fuck didn't I get this? Fuckyou, WhatsApp.

When the people clear, I see a splotch of something green on a garbage can.

And then Murph comes out. He looks exhausted.

Well, more zonked than before. A little sweaty, too.

"Hey, what happened?" I ask. I put my hand out on a lamp post and kind of lean into it.

"Adrian'ssick." He's still standing under the canopy of the theatre's marquee. He checks his phone and reads aloud. "'Check the trash can. I missed it. Pray for me.'" Murph looks around, confused.

I point to the bin with the splotch of green. "I think he meant that, mate."

Murph's face twists in disgust. "Ew." Then he tilts his head and steps closer to it. "What did he eat that was yellow?"

I shake my head, which makes me feel sick, and wrap my arm around his neck. I stumble, and pull him towards the station. "So. Tell me about the show."

He pulls away.

I stumble.

"You smell like beer," he says.

I scoff at him.

Murph crosses his arm.

"Might've had one or two." Or five. Seven? I'm not sure.

"You don't smell this bad with just one or two."

I lean forward. "Oh, so you know what I smell like?" I whisper.

Okay. That wasn't okay. No amount of me is okay with saying that to him.

"I'm concerned for you, Tommy," Murph says back, pushing me back.

"Well, don't worry," I tell him, hiccuping. "'m fine – " A car honks at me, and I stumble backward, hitting my head on the concrete. "Fuckin' hell." I turn to him and glare. Or try to."I'm fine. Fuckwit got in the way."

Murph sighs and holds out his hand. "Please get out of the street. I'm not interested in seeing your toes get run over by a bus."

I take it and stand up. My eyes unfocus for a second.

"Tommy, you need to be more careful. You could've gotten really  hurt."

I swallow and look down. There's something about his expression that twists my stomach. "Thanks."

He squeezes my hand. "...come on. I'll get you back to the station. But after that, you need to be careful to not fall asleep or throw up until you get home."