Hugo felt as if his feet were stepping on clouds—light, soft, and completely unable to find balance. His mind was perfectly clear, but his thoughts moved at the speed of a crawling snail. He couldn't tell where he was or what direction he was heading. The sensation wasn't unpleasant, but it was dizzying—like being trapped on a roller coaster. "Where were we going again?" he muttered.
"Find… find Uma! Your Wonder Woman!" came a shrill voice beside him that stabbed at Hugo's ears. Turning his head, he saw Leonardo spinning his jacket above his head like a lasso before tossing it into the air with a wild "Hoo-ha!" He burst out laughing. "I got her! I caught Uma! Hey, Hugo, I caught your girl!"
"Uma's not a buffalo!" Hugo howled with laughter, watching Leonardo fool around like a circus act. As he laughed, scattered fragments of memory began to piece themselves together.
They had been at the bar celebrating New Year's Eve. When the countdown began "Ten, nine, eight… two, one!" everyone hugged, cheered, and raised their glasses to welcome 1993. Once midnight struck, the party hit a whole new level of chaos. Everyone was drunk gloriously, hopelessly drunk.
Hugo's group had decided to keep the celebration going by hopping from one bar to another down Third Street, about twenty people in total. They drank everywhere they went, one toast after another, until people started dropping out one by one. At some point, Hugo realized it was just him and Leonardo left. He wasn't sure if they had wandered off or if everyone else had simply disappeared.
He vaguely remembered shouting that he was going to find Uma to celebrate the New Year with his girl and Leonardo had volunteered to lead the way. Together, they'd staggered from bar to bar, until somehow, in their drunken haze, they ended up… here. Wherever here was.
Watching Leonardo hugging a wooden post and shouting with excitement, Hugo snorted with laughter. "Uma's definitely not that short," he said and the absurdity of his own comment sent him into another fit of giggles. When he finally caught his breath, he frowned and looked around. "Wait… where's the bar? Why aren't there any bars here? Weren't we… looking for one?"
"There! Over there!" Leonardo pointed excitedly at a dim yellow light in the distance, then took off running, his jacket vanishing somewhere along the way. His teenage voice half sharp, half raspy from too much alcohol — shattered in the cold sea breeze, echoing from every direction.
"Where?" Hugo blinked through the foggy blur of his vision. He knew where he was, at least vaguely, but his mind had slowed to a crawl. Reason and instinct had disconnected completely. "Hey, Leo, where?"
"Here!" Leonardo waved his arms, his body swaying like a drunk marionette. Hugo finally spotted him and stumbled forward.
"Why's the grass so tall here?" Hugo grumbled, struggling to lift his heavy legs. He tried to step over the patch ahead but misjudged the height and distance completely. His right foot sank into something soft, and he stumbled hard, almost hitting the ground. "Damn it!" he cursed.
"This bar even has a garden — nice touch, huh? Oh, crap…" Leonardo's voice came from ahead, followed by a sharp cry of pain. Hugo squinted. One moment, Leonardo was right there in front of him and the next, he was gone. Looking around in confusion, Hugo finally spotted a human-shaped figure writhing on the ground.
Staggering forward, he muttered, "Why's the concrete so soft? Is this… sand?" He didn't have time to finish the thought before his head slammed into something elastic. His legs kept moving, but his upper body stopped and the next thing he knew, he was airborne, landing flat on his back with a heavy thud. "Oh, my God!"
Hugo lay there, dazed, every bone in his body feeling like it had come apart. He'd thought Leonardo was still twenty yards ahead, but somehow, he'd run straight into something. The sudden stop had sent him flying, and now he couldn't even move.
Blinking through the haze, he tried to see what had tripped him up. He reached forward with his foot nothing. Then, in the faint yellow glow, he spotted a fuzzy rope stretching across the space before him, glinting faintly like a string of stars. It took him a moment to realize what it was — a clothesline.
A clothesline? In front of a bar? Hugo's brain was too fried to make sense of it.
"Leo? Leo?" he called. He could hear low groaning nearby but couldn't see where it came from. Reaching out, his hand brushed against a warm body. "Leo, you okay?" His limbs felt like lead, and after the alcohol and the fall, he didn't even want to stand up — not that he could.
"Oh… Hugo… ugh, I feel awful…" Leonardo moaned weakly. The sound jolted what little clarity remained in Hugo's mind. He knew something wasn't right though what exactly, he couldn't process. Still, some instinct deep down told him he needed to check if Leonardo was all right.
Grabbing Leonardo's arm with his left hand, Hugo tried to sit up, but the effort drained every bit of strength he had left. Instead, he rolled clumsily to the side toward Leonardo. Sure enough, he bumped into the other man's overheated body. Struggling to steady himself, he asked weakly, "Leo, what's wrong?"
Before Leonardo could answer, a retching sound broke the silence. In the next instant, something hot and foul splattered across Hugo's left arm and side—thick, half-digested liquid soaking through his shirt and clinging to his skin. The sour, stomach-turning stench hit him immediately.
Hugo's foggy brain vaguely registered what had happened, but before he could even react, he doubled over and threw up as well. He had no idea where he was vomiting—on the ground, his shirt, maybe even on Leo—but everything spun until his mind went blank. For a brief second, he wondered if Alex's dinner before the New Year's Eve party had been cursed, because he was pretty sure his entire stomach had turned inside out.
When it was finally over, Hugo felt completely drained. His half-conscious brain shut down as if someone had flipped a switch, his thoughts dimming to nothing. He collapsed backward, eyes slipping closed, and sank into a heavy, dreamless sleep.
If anyone had walked by, they would have seen two men passed out on the front lawn of a suburban house. A clothesline had been knocked over, laundry scattered across the grass. And there, right next to a puddle of vomit, the two of them lay unconscious—textbook drunks, an unsightly mess that could make even the most sober onlooker's stomach churn.
Luckily, it was deep into the night. The streets were still alive with people celebrating the arrival of 1993, and drunken laughter echoed from every direction along Third Street. Nobody noticed the two sprawled figures in the dark.
No one knew how much time passed before Hugo stirred awake. His head was pounding, his mouth dry, and his thoughts scattered. But at least he could move again. Groaning, he pushed himself up, blinking at the wrecked scene around him. The lawn was a disaster zone, and the absurdity of it made him laugh softly. It felt like one of those "Glory or Death" after-parties he'd lived through years ago.
Then he turned his head and saw the body beside him not one of his old bandmates, but Leonardo. That sobered him a little. This wasn't the wild past—it was 1993, in Los Angeles.
A shiver ran down his spine. He was wearing nothing but a wrinkled shirt, damp and cold from the sea air. The faint noise of waves and distant shouts told him it was still the middle of the night. No wonder he was freezing.
He shook Leonardo's shoulder, but the younger man didn't stir. Sighing, Hugo got to his feet, glanced around, and realized they'd passed out right in someone's front yard—and completely trashed it. Grimacing, he made a face and bent down again to shake Leonardo harder.
"Leo, wake up. We can't stay here," Hugo urged, his voice hoarse. When Leonardo didn't respond, he shook him again, harder this time. Finally, Leonardo groaned softly and began to move.
Hugo couldn't help but chuckle. The laugh sent a sharp pain shooting through his skull, and he winced, pressing his fingers to his temples. "Come on," he muttered through gritted teeth. "We've got to go."
He bent down and hauled Leonardo up. The two of them leaned on each other for support, staggering across the yard. As they reached the edge of the lawn, Hugo spotted his jacket hanging from a low lilac bush and burst out laughing again. He grabbed it, slung it over his arm, and the two of them shuffled down the stone path.
Looking around, Hugo tried to figure out where they were. It didn't take long for him to realize they'd somehow wandered far from Third Street—they were near the beach now. The cold ocean breeze whipped through the night, stinging their faces and making them both tremble. Pressed shoulder to shoulder, they trudged forward, sharing what little warmth they had.
After just a few steps, Hugo's muscles screamed in protest. The hangover had dulled, but his body still ached all over. Leonardo was even worse—he was practically dead weight, slumped against Hugo's side. It took everything Hugo had to keep them moving.
Then, up ahead, he spotted a small lifeguard observation hut by the shore—used by the beach patrol during the day. It wasn't much, but it would block the wind.
Supporting Leonardo, Hugo led the way down the sand, stumbling with every step, heading toward the lookout tower in the hope of finding a little shelter from the biting sea breeze.
.....
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