It's Too Late Now
The music sounded louder, and everything felt funny.
“I’m not drinking again,” I told her, pointing a finger at her face.
“You’ve been saying that since the first sip,” she replied, pulling me toward the stage.
We sang, or at least tried to. I missed half the lyrics, and Tamara was shouting instead of singing. We laughed so hard that my stomach hurt.
After a while, I went back to our table, dropping into the chair. My phone buzzed again and again on the table.
“Who is disturbing me?” I muttered, picking it up.
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