Aside From the Fact That We Hate Each Other

Hi, my name is Ritchie.

JEREMY: Why are there two of you?

I've been put in an interesting position.

I arrived at Prisms around midnight on Saturday, and the place was packed. There was a line eight guys deep trying to get into the men's room.

RANDOM GUY #1: Somebody's passed out in front of the door.
RANDOM GUY #2: I think it's that Jeremy kid.

Please keep in mind, I have not suddenly developed a heart of gold. I just really needed to pee.

I managed to push through the line, push through the men's room door, to find Jeremy laying down on the ground nearly unconscious.

ME: You realize we're going to have to dip your entire body in bleach after we get you out of here, right?
JEREMY: Murn furry skirt.
ME: I'll take that as a 'Ritchie, you win the feud.'

I grabbed him, pulled him into an upright position, and managed to get him out of the club and to my car.

Maybe it was the break-up with Billy, or the fact that he looked so pathetic, but I just couldn't forsake him.

JEREMY: Blah spit.
ME: Don't you dare throw up in my car. It still smells from the Carter days.
JEREMY: Hos-pit-al.

That's when I could tell that he was in really bad shape.

ME: Well why not. From what I hear, you're the last person in your family NOT to go into the hospital recently.

I was joking--until he started choking.

ME: Shit!

After speeding all the way there, they managed to get him on a gurney and into the emergency room before I knew what was happening.

One of the nurses looked at me.

NURSE: Are you his friend?

Before I could think about it, I replied--

ME: Yeah. I'm his friend.