Don was only 18, but the drinking age didn't apply when you were buddies with a bartender. Your college aged friends enjoy seeing the jock freshman drink them under the counter.
College has proved a lot more expensive than you expected. Partly due to the company you keep, you owe $1500 to Manny, and know that the last guy who had been late paying that bookee had earned a new nickname from Manny's enforcers--"Three fingers." They cut off all the guy's fingers except for his index finger and thumb. You recall that when you had placed your bet, you had been a little reluctant to bet more than $100.00 (your usual limit), but that Manny had taunted you by calling you a "ball-less wonder." Only later had Bill told you that Manny's nickname's are threats. Manny had called the "Three Fingers" "three fingers" when he placed his bet, at the time, Bill had thought it was a reference to the guy's musical skills since he had been a professional musician.
Tonight he'd have to come up with the money or he might lose his nuts. He had pawned his collection of baseball cards, his x-box and was still $500.00 short. Eight guys stood around him chanting his name, five had bet him $100 each that he couldn't chug 6 beers in 60 seconds. Three had side bets with the other guys that he could do it.
"45 seconds," calls out the timekeeper, as you see glass at the bottom of the fifth glass. You clank the glass down on the bar, grin at Bill and the others, and grab the glass from Bill's hand.
You tilt it back, open your mouth, and pause. You see your brother Bryan treading foam in the head of the beer, he can't be more than 5 or 6 inches tall. You look over the rim of the beer at a grinning Bill. You give him an evil look. You look back at Bryan, he is smiling, waving, shouting that you'll save him.
"Fifty five seconds," an anxious voice interupts.