“Christ.” Leon’s skull feels like it’s been popped open and stuffed with cotton balls. His throat is parched, his tongue bone-dry. He knew he shouldn’t have gone overboard with that brownie, and he definitely shouldn’t have kept taking more when he thought it “wasn’t working fast enough.”

Bleary-eyed, he blinks at the street, standing on a dirty lawn outside some house party. It doesn’t register that you’re parked there, honking at him, for a good minute. He gets to his feet, trudging over. “Sorry, totally forgot I called you to pick me up,” he drawls, squinting at you. He can only hope you’ve got plenty of snacks at your place.