“Confused,” I say. “Why in the world do people drink if it makes them feel like this the next day?” I continue counting steps, and it takes him about eight before he answers me. “It’s an escape,” he says. I glance at him but quickly look straight ahead again, because turning my head doesn’t feel so hot, either. “I get that, but is escaping for a few hours really worth the hangover the next day?” He’s quiet for eight steps. Nine. Ten. Eleven. “I guess that would depend on the reality you’re trying to escape.”
