he's able to smuggle liquor from Pakistan, drive around Afghanistan drunk as balls delivering it to various compounds, and still manages to evade the police."
"Wow. Isn't that dangerous?"
"Not when you're as slick as K.Y." Two Bit throws an arm around the man's shoulder. He takes a giant swig of the bottle and then passes it over. I swear K.Y. empties a quarter before handing it back.
I feel myself make a face and then silently reprimand myself for doing so. It's none of my business. Driving around a hostile country wasted may seem like a horrible idea to me, but I really have no room to talk. I'm here, after all. And every single person I know thought that was a horrible idea as well.
I move back to take my final pool shot, pretending I don't see the bottle offered to me. Pointing at the far corner pocket, I take aim, shoot, sink the eight-ball, and then promptly scratch. Double D groans behind me and I laugh, turning to him. "Told you."
He feeds money into Junior's outstretched hand. "Man, I thought you had it."
"I tried to warn you."
Two Bit presents the bottle to me. I grimace.
"No, you have to," Double D tells me. "It's the rule. Scratch and it's down the hatch."
"You're so full of shit." I still take the bottle, holding it out to examine the label. It reads, "Wisky". Not my favorite liquor, but Jack Daniels and I are friendly. I take a delicate sip. Ugh, that is not whiskey. I think it's more Everclear—this time with food coloring.
I start to hand it back and Two Bit puts his hand out to block. "A real shot."
"That was a real shot."
He cocks his head and eyebrows at the same time.
"Fine." I take another, healthier drink. I almost spit it all back up when I start coughing. The guys laugh as I double over and try not to hurl. "Absolutely disgusting," I say hoarsely, wiping tears from my eyes as I right myself. I'm sure my face is bright red.
The guys only laugh harder. It really is like having a bunch of little brothers.
Whatever's in the Pakistani liquor, within five minutes I'm feeling its effect. And shortly after that I can no longer feel my nose.
K.Y. sticks around a little longer, enough to kill half a bottle of the poison he supplied and play a game of darts. I learn he's from Upstate New York and came to Afghanistan on a fluke. One of a group of college kids backpacking through the desert. Only K.Y. stayed—much to his mother's dismay.
Finally, accompanied by Junior and Rick, he stumbles back to his car.
"Let's try this pool thing again," Double D says. He's so drunk he sways as he racks the billiard balls.
Two Bit isn't any more sober. "Great! I'd like to make another fifty bucks. Recoup what I paid for the bottle. Maybe we should rename K.Y., Rip-off."
Through the cracks in the blinds, the bright red of car taillights catch my eye. I move to the window and peel them open. K.Y.'s car is driving through the open gate and when I realize Rick and Junior are just as drunk as the clowns left behind, I suddenly feel a lot less secure than I did ten minutes ago.
"H.C., you wanna break again?" D asks behind me.
"I think I'll sit this one out." When the room doesn't stop turning when I do, I realize I'm just as intoxicated as the men, maybe even more so. I flop into the chair. "I think I need to sit this one out."
Both men laugh. Rick and Junior come crashing back into the room, Two Bit hands them cues, D breaks, and I try to focus on one of the pool table legs to make the room stop spinning.
I'd really like to go back to my room, but at this point I'm not sure I'll make it. "What is in that liquor?" I murmur. Or think I murmur.
"The question of the century," D says, making me wonder how loud I actually spoke. "It's half the fun of Pakistani liquor…you never know what you're going to get. I'm surprised none of us have gone blind."
"That's hardly reassuring." I focus harder on the table leg. I'd really like to get out of here without puking. I'm not sure that's a possibility but I'm
"Wow. Isn't that dangerous?"
"Not when you're as slick as K.Y." Two Bit throws an arm around the man's shoulder. He takes a giant swig of the bottle and then passes it over. I swear K.Y. empties a quarter before handing it back.
I feel myself make a face and then silently reprimand myself for doing so. It's none of my business. Driving around a hostile country wasted may seem like a horrible idea to me, but I really have no room to talk. I'm here, after all. And every single person I know thought that was a horrible idea as well.
I move back to take my final pool shot, pretending I don't see the bottle offered to me. Pointing at the far corner pocket, I take aim, shoot, sink the eight-ball, and then promptly scratch. Double D groans behind me and I laugh, turning to him. "Told you."
He feeds money into Junior's outstretched hand. "Man, I thought you had it."
"I tried to warn you."
Two Bit presents the bottle to me. I grimace.
"No, you have to," Double D tells me. "It's the rule. Scratch and it's down the hatch."
"You're so full of shit." I still take the bottle, holding it out to examine the label. It reads, "Wisky". Not my favorite liquor, but Jack Daniels and I are friendly. I take a delicate sip. Ugh, that is not whiskey. I think it's more Everclear—this time with food coloring.
I start to hand it back and Two Bit puts his hand out to block. "A real shot."
"That was a real shot."
He cocks his head and eyebrows at the same time.
"Fine." I take another, healthier drink. I almost spit it all back up when I start coughing. The guys laugh as I double over and try not to hurl. "Absolutely disgusting," I say hoarsely, wiping tears from my eyes as I right myself. I'm sure my face is bright red.
The guys only laugh harder. It really is like having a bunch of little brothers.
Whatever's in the Pakistani liquor, within five minutes I'm feeling its effect. And shortly after that I can no longer feel my nose.
K.Y. sticks around a little longer, enough to kill half a bottle of the poison he supplied and play a game of darts. I learn he's from Upstate New York and came to Afghanistan on a fluke. One of a group of college kids backpacking through the desert. Only K.Y. stayed—much to his mother's dismay.
Finally, accompanied by Junior and Rick, he stumbles back to his car.
"Let's try this pool thing again," Double D says. He's so drunk he sways as he racks the billiard balls.
Two Bit isn't any more sober. "Great! I'd like to make another fifty bucks. Recoup what I paid for the bottle. Maybe we should rename K.Y., Rip-off."
Through the cracks in the blinds, the bright red of car taillights catch my eye. I move to the window and peel them open. K.Y.'s car is driving through the open gate and when I realize Rick and Junior are just as drunk as the clowns left behind, I suddenly feel a lot less secure than I did ten minutes ago.
"H.C., you wanna break again?" D asks behind me.
"I think I'll sit this one out." When the room doesn't stop turning when I do, I realize I'm just as intoxicated as the men, maybe even more so. I flop into the chair. "I think I need to sit this one out."
Both men laugh. Rick and Junior come crashing back into the room, Two Bit hands them cues, D breaks, and I try to focus on one of the pool table legs to make the room stop spinning.
I'd really like to go back to my room, but at this point I'm not sure I'll make it. "What is in that liquor?" I murmur. Or think I murmur.
"The question of the century," D says, making me wonder how loud I actually spoke. "It's half the fun of Pakistani liquor…you never know what you're going to get. I'm surprised none of us have gone blind."
"That's hardly reassuring." I focus harder on the table leg. I'd really like to get out of here without puking. I'm not sure that's a possibility but I'm
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