You’re not in the mood for any kind of confrontation, so you walk purposefully over to the bar, silently hoping that the man doesn’t follow.
You glance over your shoulder to see that the man in question is now lifting another guy from the floor by the collar of his shirt.  Huh.  He must not have been after you.
Content with that, you reach out to claim your prize, but another guy leans forward and wraps and arm around your shoulders.  This one is extremely drunk.
“That was a nashty tummle,” the guy slurs.  He slides a glass of clear liquid toward you.  “Have a drink.  You neeeeeeeeeeed it.”
You shrug.  Your prize is in front of you.  What could one drink hurt?

You open your eyes, and everything hurts.  The sun is trying to fry your face off.  It takes everything you have in you to sit up.  It takes a moment to figure out that you’re in the back alley behind the bar.
You look down, and the first thing you see is the pink leggings that one girl was wearing.  You’re wearing them now, and scattered all around you are hundreds of cardboard beer coasters.
Perhaps your hobby is harmful after all.

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