I’m wearing only underwear and what must be one of Tommy’s discarded shirts. Rocco is out. He gets up early despite all the overkill. Tommy is snoring, naked in the bed, sheet covering his face but somehow exposing his penis. “Pachanga!” I yell, and he does a little quiver. Pachanga being my only memory from last night. CoCo told me it was Mexican for party, and we yelled it together as we danced nipples deep in foam. One point for me, for the only Spanish word learned since I got here. Then the memory of brain tacos sends me running to the bathroom. I use someone’s toothpaste to scrub out my mouth. Then I say “Yes!” out loud when I spot a giant bottle of Scope. “What’s ‘Yes!’?” Tommy asks groggily from the other side of the door. “Oral hygiene,” I say between gargles. Then I spit in the sink. My hair is on sideways from so much spraying and teasing.
