Flash

Christine sat in the back seat with Phil.
He had held her hair back while she emptied her stomach into the plastic red pail.
The one her little brother likes to take to the beach.
The one he uses to make sandcastles that get carried off to sea when the mean waves reach the shore. And he always cries.
Every time.
It's kind of sad and kind of funny.
Or maybe I'm just the only one who is mean enough to laugh.
Christine drank too much that night.
She always does and Phil always wants to hold her hair and maybe her hand because
he's just a nice guy
and a nice boyfriend. Everyone likes Phil.
Hell, I even like Phil and I don't like too many people.
I'm not easy to get along with.
Unless I'm drunk.
I wasn't drunk that night.
At least not that drunk.
Maybe just a little.
Phil drives most of the time because I'm not always there to do it.
But I was, and he wasn't at the wheel because Christine had to be a bitch
and drink everything in sight.
I only had a few beers and
maybe a body shot here and there.
I could drive though.
I wasn't too drunk to drive.
I could drive.