". . . whuzzguino. . .?"
.... he is, not there. At all. It is a miracle the entire countertop isn't covered in vomit, or that he wasn't on the floor, when she arrived.
It seems like he didn't even register her little wakeup call. Like he couldn't feel much of anything.
“Oh Jesus fucking Christ,” she muttered out.
Sliding away the empty glasses from the counter over. Hands on his shoulders, lifting him up and turning him toward her.
“Nerd. Are you coherent? Can you hear me?”
Shake shake. Trying to get a response. It’s unlikely,