The bike swerved as Tad briefly lost consciousness. The crash of a flung beer bottle against the highway shoulder startled him. It saved his life. Jake was slumped over in the sidecar.

Jake had swallowed a cocktail of anti-depressants, hydrocodone, and butterscotch schnapps twenty minutes before the two friends took off from the Copper Penny in downtown Williamsburg. He told Tad he was going out back to piss. The Phillies had just lost to the Braves 2-1. Two runs scored off error.

Tad took side streets to avoid the police until they got out of town and onto the highway. They had a hotel about an hour south near the beach. Tad reached down into the side car to grab a beer, nearly running off the road.

"Open this for me, man!"

Jake was slumped over. He had been dead for almost half an hour.

"HEY!" he tried breaking the top of his beer bottle over the side of the bike.
It worked, but it caused him to swallow a few pieces of glass that would eventually get lodged into the wall of his small intestine.

When they arrived back at the Captain's Inn, Tad carried Jake up to the hotel room and dropped him on the floor. He grabbed three more beers and walked to the beach. It was about 4:00 a.m. and incredibly quiet in the small tourist town. Tad took off his clothes before he got to the sand, clumsily trying to drink.

He dropped all of his things in pile and ran out into the water. It was cold but he was drunk. He was naked but he was drunk. Salt water splashed into his beer but he kept drinking. Tad eventually threw up in the water around him. A wave splashed everything back into his face.

"GOD DAMMIT!" Tad tossed an empty bottle out into the dark, screaming. Something had brought him here. He lost three grand on the game. He coughed violently for a few seconds.

Tad texted Jake's phone: Hert m an Wakle th FUCK up
Jake's phone began vibrating back in the motorcycle sidecar. He had eight missed calls.

Tad grabbed a beer and went back into the water. He was looking for a fight. He wanted to be pummeled by the waves. He wanted to be knocked out like his friend.

"GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!", again and again. Surprisingly nobody woke up. Nobody could hear him over the ocean. He drank another beer and laid on the beach near his pile of things. From his pocket Tad pulled a joint he had rolled earlier in the night. It was bent but still smokable.

The wind on the beach made it difficult to light the joint. Tad got up and wandered down the coastline to find a barrier. There was a sign with rules painted on it. He hid behind it. After a few attempts the joint lit up and Tad took a long drag. He held the smoke in his lungs as long as he could. It only took a few puffs and the weed was gone.

It took him until near sunrise before he found his things. An old man walked by on the beach but did not pay any attention to Tad as he was sliding his pants back on.

The old man could barely see and didn't even realize Tad was there. As he was walking by, the old man kicked a bottle with his foot. He picked it up and walked to a trash can near by to throw it away. He saw Tad at this point but did not acknowledge him. He turned and kept walking.

Tad was still a little stoned when the sun started to come up. Now he was happy he did not pass out. He brushed sand off his phone to text Jake:

this is awesome