"Can I crash at your place?" I asked Paul as soon as we stepped into the 6 a.m. bus.

"Sorry, gang, my folks are coming over tonight, and I need a nap," said Paul resting his head on the foggy bus window, "fuck, I hope I won't puke again."

Neither Sam nor I answered. Our drab figures spoke for themselves—just three hungover guys heading back to reality from the best night of my life. The vehicle huffed and puffed, slowly passing the city that hadn't woken up yet. Four bus stops further away from my dream; only fifteen minutes and I would have to deal with my parents... I glanced at my phone—it was still off, probably blasting with a hundred unanswered calls.

"My stop," Paul sluggishly hoisted his body and waved, "See you on Friday."

The bus let out a tiresome squeak. Its doors opened wide, introducing a burst of air; it was refreshing, yet it wasn't enough to filter out the smells of day-old sweat stains and hangover breath. My restless gaze followed Paul as he headed out, put on his hoodie, and disappeared. I flopped into his seat further from Sam. All I wanted was to be left alone.

"You can crash at my place," said Sam

"No, thanks." 

"Next stop, Artisans" the speakers announced.

Thank the Universe, Sam's stop. Alone, I would finally be able to taste the recollections of the last night. I wanted to nitpick every precious memory—from Mina's cool apartment, and her friends, to Dan and his hypnotizing hazel eyes engulfed in smoke. Hopefully, nausea would be gone by then.

-

To my surprise, I wasn't greeted by my mom's nagging. Instead, there was only a yellow suitcase neatly placed next to the closet at the entrance. I've seen this spectacle a million times—listen to her moralizing babble and empty threats, apologize to my father, and finally, go to my room and unpack. When I was a kid, it would usually bring me to tears; however, years later it became just another broken family tradition.

"Nick?" Mom peeked from the living room, "You think you're old enough to squander your weekends with your friends? Then why don't you go live with them?"

Head heavy, I didn't have enough energy to argue, "is it about the college? I told you, I didn't get in." I proceeded to drag my feet towards my room.

"No, Nick," she blocked the way, "we are worried. We cannot bear seeing you waste your precious years. Go talk to your father. Apologize," she wrinkled her nose, "Don't tell me you’ve been smoking!"

This was the part where I'd say it was my friends, not me. I'd apologize and proceed with the ritual, to eventually repeat it in a few weeks. However, today I just froze in the hallway, trying to gather my racing thoughts; one thought in particular. Dan. What would he have done in this ridiculous situation? I knew for a fact, Dan wouldn't have tolerated this.

Once heavy eyelids now were wide open as I raised my head and took a step back.

I clenched my wrist and...

I did the unthinkable.

I didn't say a word.

"Do you even know how worried I was?" she raised her voice, now completely ignoring me, "you're turning my hair gray. Don't be a baby, go apologize. Now."

My mouth was dry and I felt nausea coming back. It was pointless to argue. Whatever I said would eventually lead to more frustration. Therefore, I took a few more steps back and grabbed the suitcase. I didn't come up with a good comeback; I just turned away and left the apartment, letting my mother's nagging fade into the echoey stairwell. Dan wouldn't have let anyone treat him like a baby. I, however, was getting used to my parents talking to me like I was sixteen. I should be proud. I'm a twenty-three-year-old grown-ass man who just took the bull by the horns.

"Sorry, dude, I told you. My folks are coming this evening," Paul said over the phone, "I'm sure you'll make up. Just suck it in and apologize," he yawned and hung up.

This wasn't good. I might have accidentally grabbed the bull by its balls. I marched back to the same bus stop I’d arrived at just twenty minutes earlier. Eyes glued on my phone contacts, I plopped on the bench. Calling Lin or Elenore was pointless; they'd let me crash for an hour or two, but I'd be home by eleven. Damn. If only I had Mina's number...

"Cigarette?" said an old scruffy man sitting next to me.

I reached into the right pocket, stuck one cigarette into my mouth, and handed the other. I needed more time to think. One hand still inspecting the jacket, I suddenly realized, I couldn't locate my lighter. Right... Dan never gave it back.

"Fire," the old man handed me his beat-up Ripper that reeked of fish. I never knew lighters could smell.

First puff and my sight brightened. Despite the headache and nausea still lingering in my guts, I have already begun envisioning my plan. I'd call Paul again, he'd understand. Second puff and my mind was even clearer. I'd stay at Paul's for a week or so. By then, I would have already found an apartment to rent. I could host parties. Invite the gang and Brenton Bandits. I wonder... did he think about me when he found my lighter?

As I was about to finish my cig, I spotted a curious glance peeking behind a woman's skirt.

"Go ahead sweetheart," the woman encouraged a small blonde girl.

The girl hopped towards me, her face gleaming, and her tiny wrist clenching something. I didn’t know whether I should smile back; I didn’t want to come across as a weirdo.

"Here you go misters," she placed two shiny coins next to me and the scruffy man, "I hope you find a home someday."

Who was I kidding? Not only I felt like shit, but apparently, I was looking like one too. Instantly, I put down my cigarette and dialed Paul's number. One call followed another, but he wouldn't answer. Fuck. It was too late to turn back. I had no other choice.

"Hey, Sam," he picked up instantly, "I changed my mind, I'm coming over."

He must have dropped his phone; I heard a series of muffled sounds followed by a loud bang as soon as he said hi, "s-sure, I'll be home. I mean, I am home right now."

-

Sam lived in an ancient building that used to be a hospital. Creepy as it may sound, the building itself wasn't so scary; maybe just its dark hallways that were covered in weighty shadows no matter what time of the day it was. Besides that, it seemed kind of homey and claustrophobic at the same time, like some well-preserved antique shop. All wards have been converted into miniature loft-like rooms, with a tiny living room area and even a smaller kitchen right below the bedroom. I didn’t get a chance to examine the upstairs, but from what I had seen, it could barely fit Sam’s mattress.

"You can crash on the sofa," Sam pushed a pile of clothes on the floor, "I'll go back to sleep, I barely slept at Mina's. If that's okay with you," he climbed the steep stairs and disappeared in the loft, "feel like home," he added

The bathroom was so narrow, I could reach all four walls when taking a dump. At least there was a shower oddly placed right next to the sink; I was finally able to wash off the recollections of this utterly embarrassing morning. Nausea was finally absent and my body free from the embarrassing odors, I wanted only one thing; to focus on the good stuff. I met Brenton Bandits, I befriended Dan. I stood up for myself; and, who knows, I may be living as a free man by the end of the summer.

I fell onto the sofa; its soft backrest hugged me from behind, slowly melting me into a sweet slumber. If it wasn't for Dan, I would be worried sick. Worried about my mother, worried about the future. Yet, today it didn't matter. The only concern I had was... does Dan think I'm a weirdo? 

As I was slowly drifting away, Sam's voice alerted me from the loft above, "Nick?"

"What?"

"Why did you do it?" Sam said so quietly, I could barely hear him "It always messes you up."

"What?" I repeated.

"Duh, weed. Did you-," I heard him roll over, "did you do it because of Daniel?”

Suddenly, it all clicked. The hookah. The panic. It explained everything.

"Goodnight, Sam."

Dan. He must have forgotten to tell me.