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Isn't it great to be in love?  It's even better when the person you love loves you back and it's just one tiny little circle of love that you're living in with that person.  Like a constant high.  The world seems brighter, even in the middle of a dreary winter, the food tastes better, even though you're not one for eating, and the... Well, your whole life just seems better.  Improved.  Like a color TV in a rich part of town on channels three, five, or eight that has a great signal (three, five and eight have the best signals anywhere mostly).  You're hopelessly in love and the feeling is mutual.  Love: sunshine and happiness.  It's great.

     Oh yeah.  Real great.  Especially when you wake up with the biggest headache in the history of headaches.  Oh, that and you're near passed out in a corner with your love and you're both half-naked.  It's really superb.

        If Joey wouldn't have been puking his guts out, he would've been laughing maniacally at the sight of Steven and me.  Tom was spread-eagle on the table, face down in a pile of booze and, disgustingly, his own vomit.  Brad was... I actually don't know where Brad is.  Joe, surprisingly, was talking on the phone, much too loudly for my hangover.  "He's just not available right now, okay?" he spat into the receiver.  He waited not so patiently while he listened to the other person.  "Just don't call back.  He's, uh," Joe shot a quick glance in the direction of Steven and me, "busy right now.  Very busy."  He paused again.  What little color was in his face drained like he saw a ghost.  His eyes got all big and he barely choked out, "Tonight?"  Again, silence.  I was still drifting in and out of consciousness.  "No, that's not a good idea.  Not a good idea at all."  He is staring directly at me, with a joint hanging from his lips.  He's holding a second one in his hand.  Whatever's happening, he's stressed about it.  I don't think he knows I'm awake.  "Okay, I gotta go now, the connection is getting bad... You– br– kin– p.  Got– oh– Ju–"  And at that he quickly hung up the phone.

     Joe laid back down on the couch, his head on the armrest.  Not even five minutes later, the piercing ringing of the phone broke the peaceful silence.  Steven and Joe both groaned.  "What?" Joe said into the phone.

     I could hear the voice on the other line all the way over here.  "What're you ass-wipes doing?!" it demanded.

     "Trying to sleep," Joe answered.

     "Oh, no you're not!  Get your asses over here!"

     "Stop yelling," Joe whined.  "And where exactly is 'here'?"

    I couldn't hear the response, but it made Joe groan and throw a pillow at Tom, and a pillow at Steven and me.  "Get up," he said blandly.  "We'll be there," he added to the caller before hanging up the phone.

     Tom proceeds to roll over, causing him to fall off the table onto a pile of clothes that groans, "Ow," before shoving Tom off of it.  Wait... Clothes can't talk.  Looks like we found Brad.

    While Steven's showering and Brad is getting dressed and Joey is recovering and Tom is still trying to stand, Joe pulls me into the kitchen.  I had a blanket wrapped around me because, well, Brad was wearing my dress.

     I wait for Joe to speak, but he just shifts his vision from one of my eyes to the other quite quickly. He still looks worried.  "Spill it," I say after chewing on my lip for a minute.

     "Spill what?" he asks a little too quickly.

     "It!" I exclaim.  "Mysterious phone calls, yanking me into the kitchen, staring at me whenever I look at you?"

     Joe rubs the back of his neck, looking at his feet.  "Oh, right... It's nothing really."

     "Then why'd you pull me in here?"