Down but not out in a tiny city

Three dog tired and regrouped in a relaxed bar at the centre of Leicester; the last two nights been filled with whiskey fueled sentiment and howling at the beer lit moon, three mornings in a row I have woken on the floor to the sound of the smug dawn chorus - my kidneys hurt and I feel every second of my age. About me my friend are flopped, draped over the sofas and arm chairs like an advertisement for decadence, barley exchanging words, we're sharing the same hangover and god knows we deserve it

My shades are on even though I'm indoors and its February, the world is a dark and confusing place and I need the layer of protection from it.
"What? By making it darker?" asks Rich, the blond well groomed one next to me, when I explain it to him.
"I just don't want to see it coming" I drawl, almost to lazy to form words, I think he mutters "wanker" but I'm too busy listening to Bob Marley sing "everything's going to be all right" over and over, urging my kidneys to believe him.

What's the difference between very relaxed and very very tired? I suppose the same as being asleep and dead. I mention to Rich that I have been sitting in the same seat for so long, I may technically be married to it, "Danny Comfychair" he settles to call me after deciding that if I was to marry a chair I would be the woman and have to change my name.

We're going out tonight but I'm halfway between drunk and hungover so it seems like a good idea.

****

A short walk, a nap and a shower later we are out and drinking again, abuse has taken its toll and although the idea of getting drunk is appealing the act of drinking anything disgusts me
"Why don't you get a bottle of wine?" someone suggests, I have to tell them truthfully; I can drink a bottle of wine in a ridiculously short amount of time, now I wasn't bragging, its just takes my about half an hour to finish one and is not really worth the money.
"Bollocks" comes the succinct reply, upon reflection my friends know a good way of getting me to do anything is to call my bluff, I knew I was being played but fifteen minutes later I was dramatically emptying the last drops from the bottle of wine onto my waiting tongue. Whoops.
"you do realise that in about half an hour your going to be shitfaced?" said the girl that, ironically, later on, had to sit in the house with no tights on because she drunkenly peed on them on the way home. I , however, never suffered to badly, sure I had a bit of a dance and, admittedly, talked some nonsense. But at least I never peed on my tights.

Next weekend it's Rich's birthday.