48.

I start slowly clapping. I start rhythmically chanting, "CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!" and in no time five people are following suit. A minute later there's twenty of us all jumping and shouting. These assholes don't even know who they're cheering for. I raise an army in a minute and I slip away amidst the distraction. Even Mr. Mole is clapping and cheering along. The girl with birds in her eyes is having no part of the senseless revelry. Bye bye birdie.

I roll upstairs and take a drink off some half passed out girl on the stairs. She's on the top step leaned against the banister, swaying back forth. Rolling in and out. She was gonna waste that booze anyway. Neglectful, irresponsible. Joe Cocker's version of " With a Little Help from My Friends" is playing from some bedroom. I hate it cause it's not The Beatles. I guess I'm just old fashioned apple scruff. I walk the halls dodging drunks when I notice myself finally start to feel it. Sensation slips away and I'm suddenly feeling the heat. I peer in open doors and see second long clips of all sorts of debauchery. Like flipping TV channels I get mere glimpses into others lives. I stop by one door long enough to get the gist of it all. Kids barely out of high school fucking around with Gack. Big mistake. Keep it strictly scientific. Speaking of which, I fish a little red Seconal out of my back pocket. Red like candy, reminiscent of a Hot Tamale. My drugs are classic, timeless even. Not like that shit those kids are fucking with. Jamming cough medicine with any number of other cheap swill. My drugs were made by the greatest drug artists. Scientists in glam rock white lab coats, building a better tomorrow by making us forget yesterday.