Air in the nightclub was hot and stale. Sweat and alcohol-ridden breath could only be recycled so many times until it was too much to take. Even though the song wasn’t over yet, Grant pushed his partner away from him and stumbled to the nearest wall and followed it to an exit, ignoring the curses spat behind him.
Outside, the air was fresher, but filled with the sour smell from bags of trash that sagged over the edge of the dumpster and cried stinking tears. After a single deep breath, Grant was noisily sick.
The voice came from ahead of him, deeper into the alley, instead of behind him.
Coughing, Grant threw up once more, before peering down the walls of red brick and graffiti. His gaze came to rest on a girl who wound her way around paper and puddles as she got closer.
“Hey Mister. Are you okay?”
He didn’t know if he was still drunk or sick, but the closer she got, the more indistinct she became, until he could only make out a pale blue blur standing next to him.
Reaching out, Grant fell.