Nothing made any sense. He was still pretty drunk, even though it had been hours. Only now, it wasn't so much fun. He was hand-cuffed and sitting on a hard metal folding chair in an interrogation room. For fuck's sake it was just like out of the damned movies. It wasn't nearly so fun from this side of the camera. He could see the giant mirror on the wall, and knew they were watching him. It was uncomfortable as hell.<br/><br/>His head was throbbing horribly, and he knew that as the buzz wore off, it would only get worse. He was starving, thirsty as hell, and just wanted to crawl up in bed. He was having a very hard time remembering the night before, and found he had no interest in thinking about it. He would much rather just cast it all aside and move on.<br/><br/>Arranging his arms as best he could with the cuffs restricting his motions, he folded his arms on the table, buried his face in the crook of his elbow, and groaned. How long were they going to hold him here?