"Are you saying I'm drunk?"

"That's right."

"Look, it's money, isn't it?You don't want my fucking money?"

"I don't wanna get sued. You just put the beer back, son, OK? Better yet, why don't you buy a cup of coffee or something? A hot dog."

"I don't want a fucking hot dog."

"Then just walk on out, boy. Go on."

Vince shoved one of the six packs across the countertop. It slid off the edge and crashed to the floor. He was about to launch another six pack off the counter when the clerk pulled out a gun.

Vince stood staring at it, his body poised in mid-shove.

"Go on, get the hell out," said the clerk.

"OK?Vince stepped back, both hands raised in submission. "OK, I hear you."

He tripped on the damn threshold again as he went out the door.

"So where is it?" asked Chuck as Vince climbed back in the car. "They're outta beer."

"They can't be out of beer."

"They're fucking out, OK?Vince started the car and goosed the accelerator. They squealed out of the lot.

"Where we going now?" asked Chuck.

"Find another store." He squinted ahead at the darkness. "Where's the onramp? Gotta be around here somewhere."

"Man, give it up. No way you'll go another round without puking." "Where's the fucking onramp?"

"I think you passed it."

"No, there it is." Vince veered left, tyres squealing over the pavement.

"Hey," said Chuck. "Hey, I don't think-'

"Got twenty fucking bucks left to blow. They'll take it. Someone'll take it."

"Vince, you're going the wrong way!"

"What?"

Chuck yelled, "You're going the wrong way!"

Vince gave his head a shake and tried to focus on the road. But the lights were too bright and they were shining right in his eyes. They seemed to be getting brighter.

"Pull right!" screamed Chuck. "It's a car! Pull right!" Vince veered right. So did the lights.