𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐥

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[ iii

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[ iii. the one with the drunken role model ]

september 24th, 1994

☕☕☕

SABRINA MUNOZ WAS THREE beers into the evening before she finally picked up a hammer.  Amid moving boxes and unreconstructed furniture, Sabrina was now currently seated on the soft, carpeted floor of Ross Geller's living room, lazily leaning on a small, white coffee table where the copper tool was within easy reach.  Even as she grabbed it, Sabrina knew that she had no intention of using it, of course.  That was the boys' job.

On one side of the small apartment, Ross was currently squatting over a wooden frame and dejectedly reading instructions on a small piece of crumbled paper.  Sabrina could not exactly tell what Ross was supposed to be constructing.  It could still go multiple ways and surely each of them involved a swift hit to the thumb with a hammer.  A beer rested near Ross' foot, but he was still very sober and very focused on restarting his life.

Sabrina silently wondered how long his composure might last.

On the other side of the room, Joey and Chandler were in the midst of putting up a bookshelf.  They were a lot further in their own project than Ross was in his, but that was probably only because it was two against one.  Granted, Chandler seemed to be doing most of the work, anyways.  That was usually how it went with the two of them.  Nonetheless they were nearly finished with the bookshelf and Sabrina could not wait for them to be done, so she could finally have someone to drink with.

Now, do not get her wrong—on any other day or in any other state of mind, Sabrina might have been more lenient to get work done around the mostly empty apartment, too, but tonight had already been promised to her as a night of drinking.  And—finally having a Saturday night to herself with some of her dearest friends—she was going to make the most of it before Monday morning came catching back up to her.

Suddenly Ross exhaled a breath of frustration, pulling Sabrina from her thoughts.  "I'm supposed to attach a brackety thing to the side things, using a bunch of these little whim guys," He huffed, squinting down at the tiny directions.  "Well, I have no brackety thing, I see no whim guys whatsoever and—I cannot feel my legs."

"Maybe because you're a grown man crouched like a frog," Sabrina pointed out, motioning to Ross' quite uncomfortably looking stance.  He was nowhere near completing whatever it was that he was supposed to be working on and if he stayed crouched any longer . . . Well, Sabrina did not want to think about it.

"Maybe I wouldn't have to be crouched over like this if you'd actually help," Ross snipped back.

"Hey," Sabrina warned, waving her bottle loosely in his direction.  "I'm just a supervisor."

Ross scoffed and slowly clambered to his feet, stretching out his long, lanky legs as the blood flow rushed downwards.  With his back turned, Sabrina stuck her tongue out at him and promptly took another drink; in an instant, she was smirking and relaxing once more.  Just then, from over her shoulder, Sabrina heard Joey let out a small cheer of victory.  "I'm thinking we've got a bookcase here!"

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