A drunk night.
It is around 10 o’ clock and the fight is going to happen. I just knew it. I bounce nervously, my knee hitting the floor a couple of times, swigging the cool, fresh beer I had in my hand but it only tasted stale as I continue to stare at the two across from me. Dallon is glaring at Brendon with disapproval, the beer untouched in his hand, while Brendon takes another bottle and chugs it, laughing his ass off about some joke with a plane and a tomato, resting his head against Spencer’s shoulder being a little all too affectionate.
All I can do is wait.