drunkentrio

I was living in the sixteenth floor of an apartment block in downtown Boston when Mike and Phil came to visit. After being out on the town one night, and getting back very very drunk, I went to sort out Phil who I seem to recall was being sick in the bathroom - wearing nothing but a pair of old purple underpants). When we came back into the living room Mike was nowhere to be found. The last time we both saw him he was teetering on the edge of the window-ledge talking to his sister on the phone. We searched that flat high and low (we thought so anyway, but then we were very drunk). We even went so far as to go over to the window and look out to see if he had plumetted sixteen floors to his death.

He had been hiding in the walk-in closet in my bedroom and we only noticed him the third or fourth time we walked past because he was giggling at our ineptitude.