But I was only trying to help.

In college I’d overheard him say something derogatory about me as though he thought I were some sort of tool, and realized then that the night before, when I’d seen him lying on the floor in one of the stalls in the restroom into which I’d walked at midnight, I’d violated the code that says if you see another man in post-binge disarray you should avert your gaze or, if you must inquire as to his well being, do so without overplaying your concern or showing the kind of wide eyed naiveté and officiousness that any nauseated binge drinker finds especially irritating coming from another young man.

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