At 3 or 4 in the morning I wake up on the floor of the club “Le Fantastique” splashed by a cold glass of water. My ‘friend’ Paul laughing with 3 or four other mice and a couple of weasels curiously looking across their noses.
“Martin, you best get home, you’re not a teenager any more”, he said. Not going so far as to help me up though. I stumble to my feet, how much had I drunk?
Wait, hadn’t I seen something important that night? Someone I know? My mind is a blur and I stumble home wet and shivering.
“Not a teenager any more…” echoes through my head.
I’ll show them what a old mouse like me can do. They won’t be laughing long.