Sunday Morning
10:30 am.
Mai's couch.

I awoke to the sound of knocking. I untangled myself from my awkward heap on the couch. I made a half-hearted attempt to smooth out my clothing in a vain effort to appear as if I hadn't spent night passed out on couch. It was to no avail.

I stumbled over to the door and opened it. I squinted at the flood of sunlight. Two men in black suits, dark sunglasses, and forgettable ties stood on the doorstep. One carried a small briefcase. "May I help you?" I rasped.

"Mr. Lopez? Am I speaking to Mr. Guillermo Lopez?" the one with the briefcase asked.

"What's left of me, yeah. But who are you guys?"

This time the man with the more forgettable tie spoke. "FBI. May we come inside?"

"FBI? But you don't look like FBI agents," I lied. (They did indeed look like FBI agents.)

"Mr. Lopez," said Briefcase. "I believe I understand your confusion. We are from the Federal Bureau of Intoxication. May we come inside?"

"Oh, right, that FBI. Huh, I thought that form I filled out was a joke. But uh, I don't think I can let you in. This isn't so much my house as it is someone else's house."

"I see," monotoned Briefcase. "Very well. We shall discuss this on our feet, then. Tell me, Mr. Lopez, are you carrying your drinking license?"

"Well, yeah," I blinked. "It's right here." I took the drinking license I had received in the mail 4-6 weeks after I had filled out the form. I held it out to Briefcase, but Tie took it instead.

Tie looked at it. "This is you?"

"Hey, lay off," I protested weakly. "I was sixteen when that picture was taken."

"This says "William."

"Oh, yeah, that. It's sort of a long-"

"And what's with the hair?" Tie asked, a raised eyebrow peeking out over his sunglasses.

I didn't answer.

"Mr. Lopez," Briefcase droned. "Due to numerous transgressions, we are hereby revoking your drinking license until such time as your case can be reviewed. As of this moment, you are no longer allowed to consume alcohol. It is the hope of the Bureau that this will prevent any more of these 'antics,' as you refer to them. It is vital that you no longer be allowed to disgrace drunks across this great nation."

I narrowed my eyes. "Sir, I don't have any idea of what you're talking about."

"Do you recall the events that transpired prior to your lay-over on the couch?" Tie asked.

"Certainly. I hung out at the party, we went to the bar, we came back, I said goodbye."

"Do you recall exactly how you said goodbye?"

"Sort of. I was already outside and I made some clever remark and then walked off to find my car."

Briefcase pursed his lips. "Close." He flipped open a pad of paper and read from it. "You stumbled out the door. Your 'clever remark' was actually a rather snide remark and instead of 'walking off' you fell into a nearby bush."

I blinked at him. He continued. "You floundered in the shrubbery for a bit before freeing yourself, whereupon you were lost from vision. You were discovered some time later in the parking lot, sprawled in your car, quite incoherent. The door was still open and you had thrown your keys underneath the front seat."

I opened my mouth to protest, but then closed it again. His account would explain the scratches. And the aching all over the right side of my body.

"Your friends were kind enough to bring you here."

"Oh."

"Thus, you are suspended indefinitely." I caught an evil glint from behind those sunglasses. Briefcase opened up his briefcase and dropped the pad of paper and my drinking license inside.

I hung my head and glowered.

"Will you be home on Tuesday?" asked Tie.

"Yes, around five. But I won't be there long; I'm going over to Jaclyn's."

"That window of time is acceptable. Expect another visit."

"I don't think I'm looking forward to seeing you guys again."

Tie laughed. "You will not be seeing us again very soon, Mr. Lopez."

"Then who's coming over on Tuesday?"

"Shakespearean Mis-Quotation Regulatory Services."

They turned crisply and strode away.

"Drat," I said to nobody as I slowly closed the door.