Birthright

He bobbed up and down on the hands. The twirling stage lights and twists of crepe paper streaked color before his eyes, and yeah, okay, he was a little drunk; he just hadn’t known it while he stood still. There seemed to be indecision over whether to pass him backwards or up front again, and no amount of pointing and shouting got it across. At least once, a hand squeezed his balls on purpose.

Brian landed near the back of the crowd. Amidst people giving him friendly slaps on the head and neck, he shoved his way out of the melee. The good news? His wallet hadn’t disappeared. The bad news? He wouldn’t make it back on stage. They went into the last chorus without him.

He pushed sweaty hair off his forehead and cut to the side of the room. The plan was to hug the wall until he made it backstage. He made himself acknowledge Theresa with a nod as he passed the merch area. It was screwed up, finding out she sucked blood, and he hadn’t told her he knew it yet. At the last minute, he realized he was being a dick. He turned and shouted, “Hey… thanks for the—”

He stepped on an Asian girl’s shoe and elbowed her in the nose.