Raymond

Jake’s car rolls to a stop at the curb outside my building. The engine idles low while the streetlights paint everything in that cheap yellow glow. I push the door open and step out, the night air hitting my face harder than I expect.

“You good, man?” Jake asks, leaning across the passenger seat.

“Yeah. I just need water and a bed.” My voice comes out thicker than usual. Three drinks past comfortable, maybe four. The sidewalk tilts a little when I straighten up.

He laughs. “Call me if you puke on the carpet again.”

“Fuck off.” I shut the door and watch him pull away. The taillights disappear...