The burst of cold night air sent blood surging into his muddled brain. Mike figured he still had his alcohol level under control. He didn't.
"Dei Kugan," Mike yelled over the sound of the revving motorcycle engine."Is your house after this flyover or the next one?"
"Next one," Kugan moaned, eyes closed. His arms were wrapped around Mike and his head blissfully rested against Mike's back. He seemed to have complete faith that Mike was going to get him home safely.
Mike, however, was struggling to keep the bike moving in a straight line.
Oil palm trees zoomed past at break neck speed. How fast am I going, Mike wondered. The speedometer said zero. That was when Mike realised the motorcycle wasn't his.
None of the roads seemed familiar, either. Where the hell am I, Mike looked for directions.
"Permatang Tok Hantu," Mike read the white letters on the green signboard overhead.
"You went too far," Kugan responded, still half asleep.
"How far?" Mike asked.
"You crossed the state border 15 minutes ago"
"Motherf..."
"It's ok, take the exit here," Kugan began to show signs of life. "I have friends in Tok Hantu. They're fabulous guys!"
Mike looked at his watch. 5am. They needed to be at work in 3 hours.
* * * * *
"Ey, asshole," Kai Seng leaned across the plastic table. His breath reeked of Sempoerna A and duty-free Chivas.
"Ey, asshole!" he repeated, poking Mike in the shoulder with a fork. "See your girlfriend going there,"
Mike lifted his forehead off the table to take a look. A drunken transvestite was trying to cross the busy road.
"Motherf..." he was about to go back to sleep, but noticed there was a plate of roti banjir on the table where his head was earlier.
Wolfing down two roti banjir with dhal always sobered him up. But Mike hesitated for a moment. This was the same guy who once tried to feed him to a crocodile.
The huge clock with a picture of Mekkah hanging above the cashier said 2.25am. Mike had work in the morning.
"Where are we?" Mike asked. Apart from Kai Seng, he didn't recognize any of the other Indian dudes (in various stages of intoxication) at the table.
"Shaddap and eat la," Kai Seng said between mouthfuls of nasi kandar. "Asshole."
* * * * *
The seashore stank of rotten fish.
There was the distinctive taste of Guinness Stout in his mouth. Mike stuck out his tongue as far as he could. Indeed, it was black.
The sharp rocks poked his feet.
A string of essay questions presented themselves to Mike:
1. a) Where are my shoes?
b) Where is my shirt?
c) Where are my pants?
2. Who is this guy standing next to me, and
3. why are we both wearing only our underwear?
"It's possible, joe," Underwear Guy said. "Screw them."
Mike turned around to see a group of guys sitting on the barrier of the highway that ran along the coastline. They were sipping Stout and laughing like hyenas.
"He was in the navy!" one of them hollered. "He can swim to the other side. You, the sea is going to bring you back!"
"Go and die, Kugan!" Underwear Guy yelled back. "Just watch!"
Mike looked out across the water. 'The other side' was an island 15 minutes away. By ferry.
"Motherf..." Mike hissed under his breath. This was not happening.
The dark sky was beginning to turn violet. The weekend was over and Monday was stepping in fast.
"But before we prove these dickheads wrong," Underwear Guy held up a finger. "...let's go have a Stout first."
He trudged back towards the group, leaving Mike standing ankle deep in seawater. This guy should be on a motivational poster, but Mike wasn't sure for what.
* * * * *
"I'm Nesh," in true Cassanova fashion, he introduced himself to the girl in the strapless blouse. She had nice boobs, I must admit.
Multi-coloured lights strobed across the dark crowded room and the deejay blasted Tamil dance hits.
"This is Vind," Nesh gestured. Vind enthusiasticly shook hands with Strapless Girl. She was beginning to enjoy the attention from the table full of guys.
Mike was just beginning to stumble out of mental fog. He recognized Nesh and Vind - they were with Kai Seng and him at the nasi kandar earlier. Where was Kai Seng, by the way? And how did Mike end up in an Indian pub?
The roti banjir didn't go down at all. In fact, it was threatening to come back up again. And the crazy lights and heavy percussion weren't helping, either.
"And this is our new friend..." Nesh couldn't remember. Strapless Girl extended her palm, waiting for Mike to come back from lala land.
"I need to puke," Mike pushed her out of the way as he bolted for the front entrance.
Mike and I once watched a Discovery Channel documentary where F-22 pilots, while undergoing massive G-force in training, would puke and pass out - not necessarily in that order. Mike could now empathise.
"Motherf..." Mike spat through teary eyes, vomit spouting out of every hole in the front of his face.
Chunks of roti banjir sat in a puddle on the sidewalk. His mouth and nostrils were on fire. Mike wondered why puke was always orange.
"Maik..." croaked a familiar voice.
"Kugan?" Mike recognized the semi-conscious boy lying on the sidewalk outside the noisy pub. "What you doing here?"
"Macha..." he extended a ring of keys. “Can send me home, ah?"
* * * * *
Mike awoke with a sudden jolt. It felt like there was a butcher knife lodged in his head. He recognized the house. He'd spent a night here before.
The sun outside was too bright to be morning. Mike's watch was gone. He fumbled for his handphone. There were several numbers displayed on the LCD screen: 12 missed calls. 7 new messages. But only one got his attention: 11.23am.
"Dei, wake up!" Mike yelled, nudging Kugan's rear end with his foot. "We're late for work!!"
"That was yesterday," Kugan pulled the blanket over his head.
"Yesterday?" Mike checked the date on his handphone. "Motherf..."
