That’s My Name, I’d Prefer if You Didn’t Wear it Out

Hey. C’mon, man. Can you open your eyes? You––this. You can’t be doing this here. Huh? What’s his name? Cole. Hey Cole. Can you stand up? You’ve gotta get up. Yeah. Yep, it’s everywhere. Kev, can you radio for a mop? Cole, your friends are here. You’ve got to stand up, man. They’re going to take you home––what? Oh. They’ve called you a cab, Cole. You need to get moving. Your friends will get you cleaned up––the tall one says you can borrow his hoody. And you should really just throw that shirt in the garbage. Yeah, that thing is toast, man. You puked all over it. What? Do I know where Eddie Vedder went to college? No. Whatever. We’ve gotta get moving, the people in line are struggling to hold their turds in. Here we go. We’re going to pick you up now. Ready, Cole? On three. One. Two. Threeeeee. Okay your friends have you. You’ve got to get out of here now, okay? Hey guys, if you think he’s going to ralph again try and get him to a garbage can. Cool. Kev, do we have that mop yet? It’s fucking everywhere, man. For fuck sakes. It’s behind the goddamn toilet even. Watch out, I have to wash my hands.

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I moved out of the security guard’s way. He looked at me as if he knew that my name was also Cole and that this shared title made me equally responsible for him having a stranger’s vomit stringing between his fingers. I wanted to tell him that I’d peed responsibly in my stall and left no mess, that I had no affiliation with this other Cole, and that I was embarrassed that this one had sullied our name by surrendering his faculties to the liquor before the show had even started. Instead, all I could say was yuck.