“Drop him down in here,” I instructed, gesturing to the living room. “You sure?” Joey asked, flicking on the light. “That couch is white, man.” “It’s leather,” I muttered, too tired and sore to worry about my mother’s three-piece suite. Shuffling over to the couch, we tossed Gibsie down. “If he pukes, he’ll be hosing it down by himself in the morning.” “Fair enough,” Joey replied with a shrug before turning around and heading for the door.
