As we staggered across the bar’s parking lot to the woodland path home, Dizzy Dave eyed the starry night sky with suspicion. Teasing him over his UFO obsession (he has all the books), I told him to keep his fool eyes on the treacherous ground.
When I woke up, I was on my back in bed, shoes still on, unfamiliar smoke-stained ceiling above me. An hour gone, by the clock on my phone.
I sat up. Peered out the window. Across the grass, I could see my own trailer, and through its bedroom window, Dave staring slack-jawed back at me.
