"Bet you never thought you'd be rooming with a drunk, did you Gary?"
At this point, I am hiding on my bed behind a makeshift curtain hurriedly put together using two towels, unashamedly leaving poor Gary from Essex to deal with our shitfaced American roommate on his own.
No, I never thought I'd be rooming with a drunk. And unfortunately I am fully aware that I'm rooming with a drunk. How? Because two nights earlier, he bragged about polishing off a bottle of tequila before passing out, proceeded to vomit into a plastic bag in his bed - I feel it is now necessary to point out that his bed was directly above mine - and then lay down to go back to sleep. Take the chunder bag outside, maybe? No? Oh Jeebus. I spent the remainder of the night unable to sleep lest the bag of vomit got knocked by a drunken flailing arm in the night and landed on my face/bed/bag.