"Sinner mate?" Gordon laughed and Parker's face flushed, "You're calling the pot black a bit don't you think?"
"Jesus drank sometimes," Parker said a bit defensively.
"Yea, but he was drinking wine, not liquor."
"You boys should find some sleep," said Mali through a yawn.
"What about you, love? where are you going to go?"
"I'll be alright," she said and smiled at the pair, "I'll manage."
Mali left the pair outside of the door to her room and disappeared around a corner.
"So much for that chance I guess," Gordon said and took a better hold on Parker while he started to walk.
Ten minutes later, Parker having to stop several times to let waves of nausea pass, the pair fell into their respective beds. Gordon thought that he'd never been happier for the feel of a hotel bed beneath him. His eyes closed tightly, the chilly-but-warming comforter pulled up around himself, Gordon quickly began drifting off to sleep.
"Gordon," Parker moaned.
"Gordon can I tell you something?"
In the silence Gordon nearly fell asleep again, but Parker's voice came through the dark like a flashlight.
This one time, there was a rabbit who lived a calm life in his rabbit hole. The rabbit often took from the garden of the farmer nearby his home, but never taking more than he needed and thanking the farmer often in his heart for the food. It was something his mother and father had taught him. A way of life that had been passed down for too many seasons to count. Thank the farmer for his gifts and he will keep providing them. One day, however, the rabbit came to his mother and father's hole with a problem.
"Father," He said, "I have everything I could want to live from and I thank the farmer each day for what he gives. Yet I still am left with want. Why?"
The father thought for a long time, stroking his long gray ears with concentration. Finally he said, "Son, you are of the age where you must start a burrow of your own. These are things that the farmer knows of but cannot provide you with. You must find a mate on your own."
The rabbit was taken back that there was anything the farmer could not simply plant and provide, but was excited by the thought that starting tomorrow, he would have something to do for himself. That when he woke in the morning there would not simply be enough unless he went looking for it. He thanked his father, sent love to his mother and set off for the possibilities ahead.
"Do you get it?" Parker asked with a sigh.
"You are fucking drunk," Gordon said.
"No, do you get what I'm trying to tell you?"
Gordon groaned and rolled over in his bed.
"I'm trying to tell you that I think I might love Mali,"