12
Tony handed his best friend Darren a pint of lager bought from the tiny marquee bar. The place was packed, teeming with party-goers all out for a time. A good proportion of them were drinking soft drinks, which meant only one thing: lots of recreational drugs. He didn't care; he wasn't averse to swallowing the odd chemical mood enhancer now and again. Not tonight, though. He had been roped into driving Darren home later.
"Cheers, mate." Darren took his pint.
Trying to get away from the crowd forming in front of the bar, Tony let his friend push on ahead. The music boomed, vibrating through his feet. Tons of girls milled about, mostly clad in skimpy tops, even in mid-March. He enjoyed watching them. One caught his eye when he bumped into Darren's back, spilling his pint. "What the f**
