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Pick Your Poison 2 (Drugs)

It's Friday night and you have had a pretty tough week. Besides failing your english exam, which pretty much guarantees you will fail this nine weeks in english, you also have heard rumors that your girlfriend is cheating on you, that your best friend knew about it all along, and that it's with the new guy at Rush Hour. Tonight, at Andrea's party, you got involved in a drinking game, and had a few too many beers. Your girlfriend has just approached you, telling you that the rumors are untrue and that she still loves you--loved you, that is, until she watched your behavior tonight at the party. You are just not the preson she thought you were, she told you. and therefore she feels you two need some time apart. Alone on the deck by the keg, you realize that the whole world is spinning. Sitting down and leaning up against the deck railing, you begin to feel very sick. Before you can stop it, you puke over the railing, then lean your head back against the wood and close your eyes. This is turning out to be a terrible night. With your eyes closed, you still feel as though you are spinning, and realize that opening them helps a little bit, even though you still feel awful. As you open your eyes, you see a Scott, a guy from the football team coming outside to sit with you. "Are you alright, man?" he asks. "Yeah," you lie. "You don't look so good," he says. "In fact, you look a little green." "No, I'm good," you tell him, embarrassed to think that he probably just saw you throw up. "Rough day?" he asks. "You have no idea," you tell him. For some reason you feel like he understands. At least someone does. "I know what it's like," he says. "Can I get you another beer?" "Actually, I really need to get home soon," you tell him. "The only problem is. . ." "Too much to drink, right?" he guesses. You don't answer, because the answer is pretty obvious. Not to mention the fact that the earth is still spinning for you and it is making you more nauseated to keep talking like this. "I have a little something that might make you feel better," he says. His voice is low, and he moves a little closer, looking around to make sure no one else is listening. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a small item wrapped inside some tissue. Surprised, you look at him, wondering if he's serious. "It's cool," he says. Just a little bit and you'll feel totally fine. You'll even be able to drive, no problem." You look at him, curious. "It will definitely stop those spins for you," he smiles knowingly. "But, how do you. . ." you start, and he cuts you off, saying, "It's no sweat, dude," he tells you. "There is no trace of it in your system after 48 hours and my next practice isn't until Monday afternoon. It's cool." He sees that you're still not sure, and says, "It's almost midnight, man. What time do you have to be home?" "Midnight," you say, frustrated that you let yourself get this way and knowing that you are goihg to be busted big time if you don't make it home, or even worse, if you do make it home in this condition. There's no way you can hide this. "Come on, man, try some," he says, extending the tissue-wrapped package out to you. "It's on me."