10. Tabasco

But first, shots for courage. Then beers half drunk because Frank insists on appearances that belie forethought. Frank's appearance is prepared before your own preparations begin.

Frank makes his approach: 'Hello, Megan. Fancy seeing you a hundred metres from the wedding.'

'Hello, Frank. How are you?'

'Merry, with love, via osmosis.'

You burp: 'That alone.'

Frank: 'Speaking of. My new friend was at the wedding with their partner, who we can't seem to find.'

You detail: 'Yay tall, hair like this, can't keep their clothes on.'

She rolls sympathetic eyes: 'Be a bit more specific?'

A passing whisper: 'You fucking shark.'

You follow the whisper, first with eyes than walking: 'Groom. Grooooms Man. Al. Whatcha' doing here?'

'It's my wedding.'

'Wedding's over. Go consummate.'

'It's a social ritual we had to see through.'

By which time you have returned to bar and Pete hands you a schooner. Nobody is invested in Frank’s play - the four of you instead watch James, having just arrived and looking quite slapped. Collective gaze pivots to Frank, smiling ohhh shit and removing glittery headwear. James breaks fourth wall by turning to the laughing audience.

Drinks are skulled and everyone swept into impromptu exit. Two taxis are piled into before social fracas erupts. Al waves the convoy goodbye. Your ride arrives at a home in suburbs mid-distance from town. James scatters couch cushions in search of Frank.

James: 'I'll have that cheeky fucker.'

Pete: 'My sister-in-law says hi.'

'Really?'

'No.'

Chris: 'He wasn't in your taxi?'

Pete finishes phone call: 'He is on the street formerly known as Princes.'

Meaning: right suburb, wrong street, drunk, lost and phone now out of charge. The suburb at night will chew him for hours before dawn.

'Fuuuck.' James vents spleen through sigh. 'Ok, what do we do?'

Chris: 'Two options. We go find him, or we make a sign.'

Smiling wry at you.

You:

are intrigued by the prospect of venturing out, because that may involve swinging by a servo for chips

ceebs