I picked up my second shot of the evening, brought it to my lips, then flicked my wrist to shoot its contents directly to the back of my tilted throat. The warmth hit my ears and nose simultaneously. I quickly bit into my lime wedge. Its tangy juice washed away the dirt taste and constricted my gag reflex. I blinked back tears and smiled.
“Happy Birthday, Chloe!!” I exclaimed, clinking the plastic bowl of my Bulldog Margarita against hers, steadying the upside down Corona bottle among the slush with my already wobbly left hand.
The night gets fuzzy after that. More tequila. More bulldogs. More and more bad memories shoving themselves to the peripherals of my mind.
I tried to focus on my best friends around the table. The last time I saw them was at New Years at the cottage. Bad night. The culprit was Bloody Caesars with vodka…
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