ARRvol34 master reduced - Flipbook - Page 27
plastic bottle. Naturally, our first rum bottles’ conversation revolved
around berating Joel for his terrible life choices, because it follows
logically that anyone who chooses diet plastic bottled soda over
glass bottle coke is making similar judgment errors in all aspects of
life.
It was around the second bottle that the first Vietnamese man
walked over and asked us to take a drink with him. This was a
frequent occurrence in Vietnam, local people wanting to show their
hospitality, and it was always a fun and camaraderie building experience. We each took a glass of not rum, pushed them to the sky,
and shouted “Mot, Hai, Ba, YOOO!,” and drank them down to the
bottom. And, thus, the chain reaction had begun. People from tables
all around us heard our jovial cheers, and one by one more people
came over to share a drink with us. Before we knew it the second
bottle was gone.
My memory from here on out is spotty, but I know it was around
this time my ass met the pavement first. One second I’m laughing
at how many drinks we’re pounding and how loud we’re being, the
next I’m feeling the wobble. There’s a second of terror, the same
feeling of leaning back too far in your chair in grade school, and
then I’m sitting on the ground, still laughing. I know this happened
a couple more times that night, but I couldn’t say when. I remember
being there when the Rum Bar closed, the tired owner was not shy
about kicking us out of our table so he could stack it and all the
empty tables around us inside for the night.
My next memory is riding my motorbike down a deserted city
street with Wilson. I vaguely remember him overtaking me, and me
thinking I’m not going to let him beat me. I hammered on the throttle, just as he cut in front of me to take a turn I was not expecting.
From here my memory jumps back into clear focus. I quickly tried
to follow him into the turn, and immediately realized I had way too
much speed. I let off the throttle and tried to straighten myself but I
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