The rules were clear now.
The arena went silent. The voice overhead paused, then sighed like a disappointed game show host. The Hungover Games
Jack, moving slowly and deliberately, grabbed the sunglasses and the burrito. He ate the burrito in three desperate bites, then put on the sunglasses. For a moment, the world softened. The rules were clear now
Jack and the woman looked at each other in pure, unadulterated horror. They both sat down on the cold concrete, held their heads in their hands, and waited for the inevitable shame to begin. Jack, moving slowly and deliberately, grabbed the sunglasses
Jack stumbled through the next few hours, avoiding sudden movements, loud noises, and anyone who said, “I feel great, actually.” He crawled through a tunnel of discarded party streamers, scaled a foam pit that smelled suspiciously of cheap vodka, and at one point had to outrun a rolling wave of brunch leftovers.
Jack woke up to the sound of a gong. Not a gentle, meditative gong—the kind that announces a bloodsport. His head pounded in triple time, and the floor beneath him was cold, damp concrete.
They stared at each other. Then, simultaneously, they both said, “Truce?”