Around five Mikey's mind was blurry but he wasn't drunk. Pete was on the other side of the yard drunk but not wasted. By six they had more drinks and unknowingly inching closer, dancing to classic punk rock in the dim sun light. By the time they bump into each other they're drunk, wasted like two week old pizza. "Petey!" Mikey slurs, turning to face the boy. Pete couldn't help but smile, Mikey's rosy cheeks compliments his eyes in their ecstatic, drunken state. Pete places his hands gently on the boy's hips, who didn't care one bit.