The party was wailing like a Ban Sidhe on Midwinter's Eve. And the beer, and cider flowed like water. It was a bit odd, there hadn't been any cider earlier, and the keg should have run dry hours ago? Maybe the brewery was pressurizing the kegs to fit more beer in each one? You didn't care you downed another beer. Everything seemed both clearer and fuzzier at the same time.
Aiden was currently engaged in a debate with the guy from next door, who apparently had an exam tomorrow too.
Aaron Levy said, "I don't bloody care if it's St. Patrick's Day or Holy Hooligan's Day, it's after 11 PM, and some of us have early classes in the morning. So if you don't shut this party down now, I'm calling the cops!"
"Now sure'n me lad, we can come to some agreement or compromise? What would you want to let the party go on?" Aiden said.
You seemed to sober up a bit, quite a bit. You don't want the party to stop. You can't let the party stop. You listen sharp.
"Well, I guess if I was cradling that girl's boobs, I might not mind the party," Aaron said pointing at the buxom lady drinking a green punch.
Your eyes twinkle, but there's no light that could reflect in them where you're standing.
"Ooops!" shouted the girl jumping and dropping her punch. She hugged her chest, "My bra just snapped."
"No worries, me lass, I've got a replacement in your size," shout to her, as you walk toward Aaron.
Your fingers pinch Aaron, and he's not there anymore. You hold a green lace bra decorated with harps and shamrocks. You take it over to the young lady clutching her chest. You whisper to it, "Well, you got yer wish, boyo." You giggle merrily, as you hand her the bra, and shout, "Aaron Go Bra!" or maybe it was "Erin go bragh!" They both sound the same.
Aaron was terrified, and then he was in heaven. He was cradling the girl's boobs, as he requested. But after about five minutes, this started to get old. The party raged on, and strangely, the clock seemed to be slowing or down, and then it started going backwards. "11:59....11:58.....!!;57"? This party will never end.
Now only if there was some real Irish Whiskey? you think, and suddenly, there's a fresh bottle of dew. You open it, pour a glass, and pass the bottle around. The twinkle in your eye seems to have a life of its own.