“When they ask,” said Nick, “tell them you got it punching a window.”

“Why would I punch a window?”

“A car window.”

“Why?”

We had wrapped a shirt around it and I couldn’t see any blood. It was hot and smelled like unwashed dance floor. All the cars, people, and sounds were immediate as only happens with being very drunk.

Ravi was on the other side of me. “Why would he punch a car window?” he asked.

“He was angry,” said Nick.

The beads had the worst smell of all. “Hey,” said Nick, “stop laughing.” I couldn’t tell who was laughing. It must have been people who weren’t in my field of vision. “Don’t you know,” said Nick, “this man is a genius.”

“Who’s laughing,” asked Ravi.

“Those girls,” said Nick. “Idiots. Just because he’s drunk tonight you’re laughing.”

“I punched a car window,” I said.

“Good,” said Nick. We three were walking along to the hospital and I felt good about things. At the hospital I told them about the car window and they gave me a bandage. “You need stitches,” said Nick, but I shrugged and we went back into the street.

“How did it really happen?” I asked.

“I have no fucking idea,” said Nick.

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