The hotel room was dark. Only the glowing red numbers on the alarm clock offered a hint of illumination. 4:27.

"Stace?" whispered Otto.

Stacy mumbled something.

"You awake?"

"I guess so," said Stacy.

Otto propped himself up on one elbow. "Know what I was thinking? If we left right now, we could be back in Spokane by, like ten tonight. You know, at the Stump, they have that Sunday night special, the two buck longnecks?"

"Mmm, beer," said Stacy. "What about Chris?"

"Fuck him, he's flying back," said Otto without malice.

"No, how are we going to get to the trucks?"

"We'll call a cab."

Stacy thought about it for a minute. "Can you spot me?"

"Yeah," said Otto. He moved under the covers. "Get dressed, let's blow this Popsicle stand."

"Man, what if I get tired?" asked Stacy. "I barely got any sleep."

Otto leaned over to pull his boots out from under the bed. "Stace, those bikers gave us a shitload of speed, remember?"

Stacy smiled in the dark. "Hey, will you let me call the cab?"

"Be my guest," said Otto. He turned the television back on and sat back to wait. The Three Stooges were still slapping each other around, but Otto found that watching them now was giving him a mild erection. He flipped the channels and found Cartoon Network. "Cool, the Herculoids!"

Ten minutes later, he had to remind Stacy that he wanted to call the taxi. Stacy talked into the phone, his eyes never leaving the prehistoric rhino that shot balls of energy out of its horn.

Chris Threadgill slept the sleep of the truly wicked; Hillary snored delicately, tucked under his arm and spooned up against him. They were both naked and smelled of pickles and pot. It had been an adventurous night, made all the more exhausting by the fact that they weren't too stoned to not remember anything. Sleep was the only thing that kept them from total embarrassment. Now, as they slept, their bodies orchestrated touches of genuine intimacy just to spite them both.

Hillary wouldn't remember the dream she had, where her mother was telling her that god speaks to us through drug use, and that she wants to give her the family condor as a leaving the house present. When Hillary walks outside, she's looking at a bird the size of a piper cub, and Chris Threadgill is sitting on the neck, holding the reigns, and singing, "Sunshine of Your Love."

The only image of his dream that Threadgill would be able to hold onto was bringing everyone in Spokane Krispy Kreme donuts that were laced with pot, so the more they ate, the nicer everyone became. Why didn't he think of this sooner, he wondered. Even as he dreamed, he could hear Otto and Stacy's voices outside his door, and he thought, fleetingly, they had better not take my car again.

Hillary sighed and rolled over, prompting Threadgill to roll with her. The left side of his face rolled right onto the cardboard insert of a Little Debbie cupcake wrapper and stuck there, presumably forever. They both slept on, unaware.