Hungary gave the boys the rest of the tabs, and they soon took effect.
My imagination was against me, as the dancers on the shiny, wooden floor seemed to become liquid and faceless, while their shadows crept into monstrous beings.
The key was, apparently, to not focus on something on its own, but rather what it was supposed to look like; because, honestly, it's hard to hold a conversation when your friend's head looking like a distorted, hairy lollipop.
Most of the night seemed to blur into itself, between the sheer fun and the memory-killing substances.
But then, everyone was taken out of their drug-induced ecstasy when Ivan, the bouncer, came barging past disgruntled dancers and up to Alfred's face.
Or, rather, above his face.
"You think you can take advantage of me being a good guy by letting you come in and you go have sex with my fiancée? You've got something coming, kid."
Something immediately clicked in my mind and I came to a bad realization.
His fiancée must've been the bartender that gave us those "free drinks."
