Mixed Drinks

by Joe Roche

He’d bowled in to the party at around eleven, even though everyone else had managed to make it for the asked-for eight. His smug face disgusted me as it contorted into an “oh am I late?!” faux-coy apology that was devoid of any sincerity. He had the perfect haircut and the perfect clothes and he knew that the eyes of everyone in the room were on him as he entered, swaying slightly in a pretence of half-drunkenness and deluded self-importance. It was this self-importance that meant he didn’t notice when someone spiked his Guinness with about two shots’ worth of Jack Daniels. He grabbed the can from the side, downed a huge gulp, and instantly his eyes bulged and vomit erupted from his mouth and nose all over the beautiful girl he was talking to. In the ensuing minutes he left, covered in vomit, she cried, also covered in vomit, and I almost pissed myself laughing, not covered in vomit but hoping that he’d never find out that it was me who had mixed his drinks.

6S - C3

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