We laid back satiated. Breathing heavily, we turned to look at each other. I traced his jaw and brushed away his damp hair. I kissed his ready mouth.

    I heard the handphone ring, breaking the silence. I pushed myself off the bed and started to gather my clothes.

    "Crazy," Marc muttered. "Who's calling you at 3 am in the morning?"

    I picked up the call.

    Static. "Diane."

   It was Paul's voice. I put a finger to my lips. Marc made a face. I suppressed my laughter.

    "Yes, Paul?"

    "I need you to pick me up," he said. His words were distinctively slurred. Immediately, I felt uncomfortable.

    "Where are you?" I asked, worried.

    "Boat Quay," he said. The line suddenly went dead. I started to gather the rest of my things. Marc pushed himself upright. "What happened with dear Paul?" he asked.

    "I think he's drunk," I replied. I walked out of the room. Marc followed. "What's the problem with that?" he yelled as I headed for his door.

   I unlocked the gate. "He hardly drinks and he never gets drunk."