…Gary stares endlessly down at his half empty glass, before nervously talking a mouthful of the tepid golden liquid while a cascading river of sweat floods down his back and runs into the small puddle captured in the crack of his arse cheeks.
“Swinging party,” the woman says as she throws herself down in the seat next to him. “Can see you’re enjoying yourself.”
“Yeah, love a good party,” he says with an unconvincing smile slapped upon his face as he raises his glass and takes another sip.
“WOW! Did you get out of bed on the wrong side this morning?”
“Nah,” he says as he down the remainder of his drink down his throat. “Getting up and out regardless of side is always a good thing, it’s when you don’t wake up, that’s when you worry.”
“So,” she says as she punches him playfully in the arm. “Why are you such a sour puss, when everyone else is celebrating it up?”
“I-I-I, I’m not a sour puss, I’m just not in the mood to party, that’s all,” he says as he flashes another fake smile.
“I’m calling bullshit to that! If you’re not in the mood, why don’t you go?”
“Because I can’t okay! I can’t leave, and I can’t talk about it….”