The hangover was the variety that bungee cords you to the bed and begs for a bucket.
Randall raised his head at least five times and it bounced back onto the pillow.
Lyric cooed mercifully softly.
“I know, I know, Rand, but this is once in a lifetime. I’m hurting too, hard, so hard. Malort is the devil, but Miss Jules is an angel.”
Randall remembered his two days before he dropped out of SEAL training and stood upright, allowing the room to spin and trying to laugh at it.
Lyric gagged just watching him, pulled on the pair of jeans with the rainbow patch on the back pocket that Miss Jules always complimented her on.
When they got to Alloria’s, not only was the diner full, the parking lot was full of people.
There were two news trucks, four cop cars, a fire engine.
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