When I lived off Ditmars Blvd., I met up with a friend at the Astoria Bohemian Hall and Beer Garden to catch up. After a few pitchers, we walked to my apartment for a night-cap, and on the way we picked up food to fill our drunk tummies.
We sat down to eat, and my friend asked me if I had any Fire Sauce from Taco Bell. He LOVED Fire Sauce, and I knew this as I had seen him drink it straight from the packet. I happened to have some in a drawer that I had picked up at a prior trip to Taco Bell, so I surrendered it to him. He drenched his food with it and we proceeded to stuff our faces. In the process my friend got Fire Sauce all over the front of his shirt, and looked a mess.
After we ate, I made a trip to the bathroom, and when I came out he wasn’t there. As I walked through the kitchen I saw a pair of legs hanging off my bed. There he was laying face down, horizontally across the bottom of my bed. I kept shaking him yelling, “Hey you have to head home man. Your girlfriend is waiting for you. Get up man!” He just kept sleeping.
I grabbed my phone and explained to his unhappy girlfriend (who was also a friend of mine) what had happened and that I couldn’t wake him. She told me “Be careful about waking him up! He gets violent. Just let him sleep.”
I went to get ready for bed and he was still passed out by the time I brushed my teeth and put on my pajamas. I crawled into the top of my bed trying to get comfortable with the limited space I had, protecting myself from any impending sleep violence.
The next morning I woke up and he was gone. I thought maybe I had dreamt the whole thing up, but as I looked around I noticed a huge Fire Sauce stain on my white Ikea comforter.