The Photo Collector
But Travis, he was this one person left on the bartender’s table, drunk as hell, and could barely even stand because the world was spinning on his head, that just a simple movement would definitely trigger a nausea--that would eventually lead into a massive amount of puke.
I tried to check up on him but he was like a sensitive time bomb, that a simple touch would mean great harm to everyone. He was lying on the cold and viscous white sand off the shore, six to seven meters away from the bonfire--he was, among all of us, the farthest from the fire. As much as we wanted to drag him closer so he would at least warm himself, we could not. None of us knew how Travis behave every time he was dru
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