Vegas, baby

The ceiling here is painted to resemble the azure sky of a lazy French afternoon, and you know what? It doesn't look half bad.
"Hey, will you guys buy us some drinks?"
They both smile and start giggling. I consider their question for a moment; should I buy alcohol for two minors, both of whom appear to be idiots? My brain returns the unequivocal answer: NOPE.
"Sure, I'll buy you guys some drinks, but you have to give me the cash first."
I look over at Brian. Is he serious?? He smirks wryly at me, as if to say, "Just wait." Should I wait to see the effect of alcohol on these two chicks? Is that what he wants? If so, then I guess I'm all in. That's what friends do, right? Whatever, way too much thinking in one second. I do nothing and wait to see where this is going.
Brian dips under the fabric railing and soon finds a waitress. I watch as he pays her and returns with one huge margarita.
"Here you go, ladies. And your $1.50 change as well."
"Mmm, thank you!" The shorter one manages to say through pursed lips as she sucks on her straw.
The other one is a bit more tentative, but follows along with her more tenacious friend.
Within a few minutes both are becoming tipsy. You can't have a little fun without taking a risk every now and then, right? Still, I'm not implicating myself any further in this.
Brian turns to me and whispers, "Virgins."
"Uh, okay?"
"No, dude. I mean that was a virgin margarita! Hahahaha!"
Slowly, they both cling to each other as they clumsily enter the performance hall.
I turn to Brian, both of us grinning widely, "Brian, thanks to you, I'll never doubt the placebo effect again."
"You're welcome. Now where did Freshman get off to?"
"Who ever really knows?"
"True. I'm sure he's in a corner somewhere texting someone."
"Yeah, probably," I say, while the two pseudo-drunken chicks look back to wave us over their way.

Cool Heat

I can feel my feet. Actually, I can only really feel that I can't feel them. This is an odd sensation. I wake with a start and begin turning my body carefully so as to avoid the steering wheel. I stretch my blanket to its furthest, but it still can't manage to wrap entirely around my feet without slipping off my shoulders.
The rain pounding against the window next to my ear distracts me momentarily. It's cold in here, and my feet want socks desperately. Jordan is staring at the roof of the car as I sit up and stretch my legs.
"Yawwwwwwnn. Holy crap it got cold; my feet are freezing."
Jordan looks over just to say, "You sound like a wookiee when you yawn."
"Huh?"
"You know, like Chewbacca. From Star Wars."
"Oh, right. Good morning to you too."
Leaning onto the steering wheel, I can't see outside at all due to the fogged windows. The rain slapping on the roof sounds like a tropical torrent inside the cab of my tiny Neon, and I find myself immensely dreading anything involving an exit from the car.
Exhaling in frustration, I glance back at Jordan, "It sounds like it's raining pretty hard. I really don't want to get out."
Immediately he tells me with audible urgency, "Dude, I really have to piss."
"Yeah, me too. Let's go on the count of three, okay?"
"Sure, that sounds good," Jordan replies.
Gripping the handle of the door beside me with fervent concentration, I start counting; one, two, and then I remember.
"Wait!"
Jordan flinches away from the door, having expected to be rushing outward. "What??"
"Grab your toothbrush."
The doors flung open, we immediately discover that the downpour is little more than a drizzle, but we both hike up our shorts with one hand and begin bounding toward the restrooms anyway. The flannel clad trucker exiting through the door steps quickly out of my way as I rush through the opening. I'm careful not to slip on the tile floor in the lobby as I make my way to the men's bathroom.
"Hey, Jordan."
Looking over the partition between me and his urinal, he responds, "Yeah?"
While still examining my chin and neck in the mirror through downturned eyes, I describe my current revelation to him; "Ya know, Jordan, it's a sad day when the hair on your face is far thicker than the hair on top of your head."
Zipping up and approaching the sink next to mine, he begins to laugh. "Dude, just be happy that you can grow a respectable beard."
"Fine, but you be happy that you can grow a respectable head of hair."
"Yep, I am thankful for that on a daily basis," he says while running his fingers through his hair.
Refocusing on my hygiene, I have another revelation: I stink. While brushing my teeth I scan the walls of the restroom for any paper towel dispensers, but all I see are air dryers. This was our second straight night and fourth in the past ten days sleeping in my car, as well as the third day without a shower, and now it is really beginning to show. I had planned on using some paper towels to swab out my armpits and wash my face, but it looks like I'll have to wait. So instead I finish brushing my teeth and enjoy the warm air of the hand dryer on my skin.
Flinging the door open, we begin to run back to the car. I take a shortcut over the wet grass while keeping my heels flexed upward in an attempt to keep my flip flops from flipping water all over the back of my legs. Slamming the doors shut behind us, I hurriedly fumble for the keys and start the engine.
"Sheesh, who knew it could get so cold in May?"
"I know, it wasn't nearly this cold last night in Illinois."
The engine chokes to life as the heater begins to blow cold air through its ducts onto our legs and faces.
"Remind me never to come to Nebraska again."
"Well, maybe it won't be so bad if you bring a better blanket next time."
Thinking back to last night, I step on the gas and tell Jordan, "Good point. You should be glad that I told you to get your blanket out of the trunk before it really got cold."
"All right, D, you've got me there. Where do you want to eat, anyway?"
Looking at the gas gauge, I know that we should be able to make it past the border before we need to refuel. "Not in Nebraska. That much I know."
Leaning back and closing his eyes, Jordan says with a yawn, "Sure, man. I'm sure we'll find a place."