“Don’t Patronize Me”
Or Jack Kerouac?- simulates the roar
- so soft and so elegant
- severe attack of vomiting
- “Don’t patronize me.”
“Don’t patronize me.” Stacie glared up at Derek. “Just hold my hair.”
Derek’s few memories of the previous night included more than enough drinking to account for Stacie’s severe attack of vomiting. They both had way too many cocktails, something with a kooky name and blended with shaved ice to a creamy texture and topped with an orange-peel origami swan. The drinks were so soft and so elegant it had been hard to decline as the next one was offered. And then the next. And the next, until inside your head their cumulative effect simulates the roar of the ocean in a seashell, drowning any coherent thoughts and drowning out the voice of reason.
Derek liked to go to parties so he could feel like his heroes. Like Fitzgerald, or Hemmingway. Or Jack Kerouac? But his taste in drinks was more like Patricia Highsmith.
bonus points for using them in reverse order