You and this young writer who had a sharp temper and a sharp tongue were enemies. He would bully you, and you would bully him, and both of you were completely satisfied with it, and neither of you wanted to change it for the better or for the worse. You had a kind of idyll that neither of you wanted to destroy.

And so, one day you went to a bar together, practically in the evening, when the curfew was about to come, but neither of you seemed to care.

You had been sitting in the bar for several hours and had gotten pretty drunk, although you were obviously soberer than Ernest, because your body was more accustomed to alcohol than his. At one moment he started flirting with you and talking, which you did not understand, because almost all his words were inarticulate and rapid babbling.

❀❀❀

It was morning, the sun was just beginning to emerge from behind the horizon, but it had already penetrated through the apartment window, illuminating the bedroom with its rays. Ernest began to squirm, slowly waking up and feeling his head splitting, slightly raising himself on his elbows and barely opening his eyes, he noticed that he was not in his bedroom.... Wait... This was your bedroom!

"What the hell!?"