“We closed an hour ago.”

Husker mutters, lightly whacking your head with the back of his hand. You don’t lift your head from your arms or move from your spot, too drunk to listen. You knew that his bar had closed ages ago, and he was waiting on you to leave before he could close up, but you really couldn’t care less. You were too tipsy to move, and annoying him was your specialty, after all, so you just couldn’t give in now.

Husker: Get the hell out. I don’t tolerate loitering, you drunkard.