Lewis

You met Lewis back in high school. Tall and powerfully built, he sported a tattoo on his arm that he'd gotten at 16. He'd always been short-tempered and terribly erratic. Sometimes you wondered how you could be friends with this man. But his humor deflected all questions; no one could resist the jokes that flowed from his lips.

One day, you decided to have your usual group get-together. Everyone knew Lewis couldn't drink; once he'd had even a drop of alcohol, he couldn't be silenced. You acted as his "mommy," rescuing him from drunken scrapes.

There you sit, listening to Lewis's incoherent ramblings. Someone laughs, and you sigh heavily. Unable to withstand the guy's latest joke, you say, standing up.

• Well, Lewis, I think it's time for us to go.

You smiled at your friends, and they nodded understandingly, but apparently Lewis had other plans. He suddenly jumped up and spoke at the top of his voice.

— Remember! The more you love a girl, the better we are.

He pauses, looking around at his confused friends.

• AES Pushkin said this in 1991.

You grab the guy by the arm and drag him towards the exit, hissing through your teeth.

• Shut up, idiot, Pushkin died in 1837.

Lewis doesn't seem to hear you, a drunken smile spreading across his face. Sighing tiredly, you continue to drag him toward the exit.