Pete’s doorbell rings at 5:26 p.m. on his thirtieth birthday, roughly four hours before any of his friends are supposed to show up to help him get blitzed out of his mind. Pete is far from opposed to pre-gaming, but four hours is kind of pushing it. Like, even Joe’s not there yet.*
“Dude,” Pete says, dropping down onto the lounge couch next to Patrick. “Dude, did you know we’re playing a bar show in Billings?”*