text: Mark woke up with his face half buried in his pillow, and before he even opened his eyes he was enveloped by panic. His pupils shot into the corner of his eyes and he looked up into a bleary ceiling, recognising his room. That much was good - he had returned home safe. He had gotten really drunk last night. He felt dehydrated, slow, confused; hangover was going to be the theme of the day. Yet seconds after he regained consciousness he felt something was missing. He swung around toward the middle of the bed and felt around it with his hand and arm. It was empty, except for his smartphone. His honour was not there; it was missing. “I knew it!” He thought. Hopefully his honour was in the kitchen or some other room, or maybe taking a shower in the bathroom. He really wanted to go and check, but he was hung over, so he remained in bed. He reburied his face in the pillow, with one eye closed on the fabric and another staring at the white cabinet next to his bed. He was frozen with worry; his body remained perfectly still. It was a great night; it sure started off great. All the boys showed up before the sun even set, the ones he saw often and the old dogs he hadn’t seen in a while. It was a balmy summer night, everyone was very happy to see each other, everyone was ready to party. It was the weekend, man, time for real men to show how much they didn’t care about this world. They cared about each other, they hugged and slapped each other’s backs, they recognised a brother in each other. Some started drinking early, and then others imitated them. Old Louis pulled out a cigarette and lit it, laughing and not giving a fuck. Everyone brought their honour along, of course. The honours strutted around the crowd, looking mighty good. They mingled and talked to each other, then to the boys. By the time the night fell and most people were on their second or third drink, it was impossible to track whose honour was talking to which man. Everything got blurry, it seemed, as though individuals melted away and fused into one undulating mass of spirit. And it was good to be in that mass, saying things you usually don’t say, things that your friends knew you would say anyways, without you having to say them, but whatever - it was good to vocalise those things. Every man clings to his honour. But you can’t cling to it too much - people will think you are stuck up, you think you are better than them. That’s why it’s imperative - and natural really - to let one’s honour loose at a party. Let it off the leash, so to speak, let it get lost in the crowd, let others talk to it, get to know it. It’s perfectly safe; what kind of an animal would hurt another man’s honour? It was in this zeal to show solidarity that Mark let his honour completely out of sight. It was chatting with Mark’s jiu-jitsu friends when he went to the bar to get another drink. Mark then walked to the other side of the patio and picked a conversation with Jimmy, who owns a pizza joint that everyone loves. He then talked to Val, the boxer. Man! That guy was talking some hilarious stuff about French women! And man! Marco suddenly remembered that he told Val how he once hired a French prostitute in Barcelona. Shit! Hopefully Val was too drunk to remember that conversation. Mark was certainly willing to forget. His memory became blurry after that. He took a cab to a street food joint where he clearly remembers hugging Jim for a little too long. They talked about racism for like half an hour, maybe even longer. It was a little raw, but Mark was not a racist, definitely not a racist, so he shouldn’t have anything to worry about. His concern finally grew to a point where it propelled him out of the bed. He trekked to the kitchen where he found a water jug and forced himself to take twenty gulps of water. He found a boiled egg from the day before, salted it abundantly, and ate it in three bites. It would help the hangover. He then checked the rooms of his apartment one by one. His honour was nowhere to be found. He crashed back into the bed and tried to devise a plan of action. He would have to go outside and look for it. About two hours later he went to the bathroom and took a long shower. He shampooed and soaped himself thoroughly, he rubbed his hair for a good several minutes. He brushed his teeth in the shower, too. It got the stinks out of his body, but as far as helping him feel sharper or stronger, it didn’t really help. And his honour was still missing. He put on some of his more decent, respectable clothes and walked out. Unlike his soul, the day was bright and lively, the city was bustling. It was good that everyone was so cheery, thought Mark, hopefully no one will notice him trudging around without his honor. He walked into a busy coffee shop and ordered a big black coffee. He must have drunk over seven beers last night, that’s a mountain of calories, so no breakfast for him today. Well, no lunch really, it was already two in the afternoon. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. As with most people, Mark and his honour shared one phone. Having separate phones and social media accounts for you and your honour was too duplicitous in their view; they both loathed the few people who did it. So the fact that the phone was on him obviously meant that he his honour had no phone on which to be buzzed. Not only that, Mark thought, but he had been drunk with access to social media without his honour present to keep him in check - this can bode no good. Who knows if he sent some horrifying drunk messages to some ex-girlfriend or other; the thought tortured him and he was afraid to check his chat history. He did check the group chat that had a lot of the buddies he saw last night. A few of the guys were talking about their hangover. They were all establishing that their honour got back home with them safely last night. But what was Mark to say? What would people think if they found out his honour was missing? After the coffee he walked out of the coffee shop and strolled up and down the leafy streets, thinking about what to do. The summer sunshine should clear his head, he should think of something then. He didn’t notice it but he must have been walking around for an hour, because the only thing that came to him eventually was a feeling of sickness. It might be an onset of a sun stroke, and besides, he was probably looking all lost and desperate. He went back home. He was now really starting to despair. How’s he supposed to go to work tomorrow without his honour? How was he supposed to do anything, really? One cannot go through life all alone, like a stray dog, without honour. The patio from last night transformed in his memory from a place of felicity to some infernal vortex that spirits away people’s honour like some evil, perverted kidnapper. The more he tried to recall details, the more he began to hate the place. His mental effort to figure out what happened to his dear honor only resulted in amplifying the terror building up in his chest. Finally, the fear pushed his meandering mind onto an idea. He figured it out. He was going to have to face the monster. The only thing to do, really, was to go back to the place and straight-up demand from whomever was working there to tell him who it was exactly who snatched his honour. He was going to have to be brave, to look the enemy dead in the eye. Thus it was that he ordered a cab, and when the sun had already become slanted and soft, set off to the patio. He found the place quiet, less than a third full. He sat at the bar and observed the waiter working there. The man had a black shirt, he was wiping the countertop with a white rag. Once he finished that he walked over to Mark and nodded at him respectfully. “What’s up, man?” he greeted Mark. “What are you having?” Mark looked at him carefully. He saw no signs of malicious intent, nothing in the way of insincerity. The man looked quite bored, in fact. Mark ordered an Asahi. He picked up the chilled glass jug and took a sip of the beer. It made him feel better. He took out his phone and checked the group chat again. No news; some of the boys posted some funny gifs, the regular fare. He then put his phone away and looked around the patio. He decided he would wait until something happens, until he sees a sign, a hint of where his honour had gone. He had been waiting a while when he noticed a table with several pretty women eating desert and taking photos of each other. How superficial, though Mark. He may have lost his honour, but at least he wasn’t the type of person to order a blueberry tart and take a photo of himself eating it. “Those girls over there really love your deserts,” he said to the waiter. “Yeah, haha!” The waiter got his point. “Say,” Mark continued. “Have you by any chance seen an honour walking around here today?” “An honour?” answered waiter. “It’s a bar, man, there’re honours buzzing around here all the time. You see people chatting them up, sometimes even roughin’ ‘em up a bit, smackin’ ‘em around, but all in good fun. Which particular honour are you looking for?” “Ah, never mind,” Mark waved the question off. The waiter went back to looking bored and fumbling with utensils around the ice box. “Hey man,” said Mark again after a while, then nodded at the waiter’s cigarette pack, “can I bum one of your cigarettes?” “Sure, man!” The waiter offered him the pack, then lit his cigarette. “If you want another just help yourself,” he then said, placing the pack on the counter top within Mark’s reach. He then walked away to replace a metal beer barrel under the counter, on the far end of the bar where the beer taps were located. Browder really appreciated the gesture. He got back to his beer and relished the cigarette. He was starting finally to calm down. He was even starting to feel a little inspired as he reminisced about the party last night. His memory of it was starting to turn for the better. Maybe after all it will be remembered by everyone as a great night. His honour probably got too drunk and fell asleep in the park somewhere. It will come back, and everything will be fine. It was in the midst of his reverie, as he was slouched on the bar, that he received a hearty slap on the back. He turned around in surprise, and what would you know! It was his honour! He looked perfectly fine, smiling at him with that generous and knowing smile Mark knew so well. His face was a little puffed up, but that was perfectly understandable considering the night he had. He was still wearing the same clothes as last night, casual khaki shorts and flipflops, and a breezy white shirt unbuttoned low. “There you are!” exclaimed Mark as he jumped off his stool. “Where in the world have you been! You had me worried sick!” They embraced each other. “What do you mean?” said the honour. “Man, you must have really gotten pissed. Don’t you remember me telling you that I was gonna crash in the overnight sauna? The one downstairs?” It was a rooftop patio. “I told you a needed a detox, that I need to freshen up.” “No, I don’t remember that!” Mark smiled and placed his palm in his forehead, “Silly me! Yes I did have a few too many last night.” “Ha-ha,” the honour laughed. “Didn’t we all. It was an epic party. I gotta tell you some stories!” The honour sat down on a stool next to Mark and they caught up merrily. Needless to say, all was forgiven between the two of them. They ordered another round of beers. Mark introduced his honour to the waiter; the waiter was happy to meet him. It gave Mark a great sense of relief to finally be able to introduce his honour to other people again. The honour had brought a plastic bag with him, and he took out of it a plastic plate of shrink-wrapped pineapple slices. “Have some of these,” he said, “They are still fresh and cold.” They ate the pineapple slices with relish and went over the stories of what had transpired last night. Honour insisted that it was in fact an excellent party. Many of the guys and many of the honours had told Mark’s honour that they hadn’t had that much fun in a while. Mark then up brought up his concerns; the few potential *faux-pas* moves he may have committed. He mentioned letting slip the story about the French prostitute to Val, and how he went real deep about racism with Jim. To his great relief, his honour merely laughed and pinched his neck cordially: “Dude, you worry way too much! You’re like the nicest guy out of all of us, and everyone knows it. Of course no one thinks any less of you! They don’t even remember what you told them, and now that I told *you* all the stuff I saw them do, you definitely have nothing to worry about.” The encouragement was so great that Mark finally gathered up the courage to check his chat histories, to see what exactly he texted to whom when he had been left drunk and without his honour with his phone. Again there was relief: he had texted neither his ex nor one of the three or four girls that had ghosted him and whom he texts when he loses all inhibition. The worst thing he did was going on the Instagram profile on an old male acquaintance and liking some ten to fifteen of his consecutive posts; this was excessive, but can be taken ironically, as a friendly joke. Once again his honour reassured him that no one will even notice. Once they finished the beers, Mark decided that they should leave, and he gestured the waiter for the bill. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “Two beers for me is enough. I don’t want to lose you again, he-he!” “Yeah, let’s go home and watch some Netflix,” the honour said. “We’re definitely watching that show on Netflix tonight,” said Mark. “But first we are going to the hair salon. I need a haircut.” Mark left a generous tip for the waiter. The two then left the patio, whose memory was now fully redeemed for Mark. He would definitely recommend the place to his friends. In fact, he couldn’t wait to recommend it.