Vince doesn’t feel it at first. That’s the beauty of alcohol, he thinks; it doesn’t hit until you stop. It makes perfect sense, then, that he should just keep drinking to avoid getting drunk.
Like two winos in an alley they pass the bottle between them, stretched out on Vince’s bed. Vince is quite sure the temperature in the room has risen several degrees though the heater hasn’t kicked on yet. Eric even opened the window a crack, and every so often a blast of ice cold air dances over them. It stirs the smoke that hangs in the room like a storm cloud. Vince can feel the chill through his jeans.
Their faces are sheathed in sweat. From the drink, and from the damn heat. When did it get so hot in here? Vince doesn’t know, but having Eric beside him doesn’t help. The boy’s body melds along h
