Mr. Crawford is on his way with the limo to meet Mr. Stone to begin their completely relaxed, not at all stressful drive to Las Vegas.
First stop? Adam's grandmother's house.
But first the boys go out drinking at Grendel's (fourteen hours before they have to drive, don't worry). The drinks are good. The food is fine. The company, Peter Jagielski and Melina Collins, is excellent. In fact, things are too good. Why would anyone want to leave this bar? Poetry is disappointing. Driving is awful. Change is terrifying. Who knows if they even HAVE food outside of Cambridge. When the bill comes, Adam's eyes glaze over.
"I'm not leaving." He says.
"The hell you aren't!" Bobby replies. "We have to drive out first thing tomorrow afternoon. I've poured my life savings into this tour, and I won't have you ruin it because you're a lazy alcoholic."
"Hey! I'm not a lazy alcoholic! I WORK at my alcoholism."
Peter and Melina exchange a worried glance. "Well, now that we've paid the bill, I guess it's time to go."
"NO!" Adam says. "I'm not ready."
Bobby cracks his knuckles, brute style. "We'll just see about that."
Seven hair-pulling, eye-gouging, breadbasket-popping minutes later, they get Adam to the exit, where he hangs on for dear life.
Finally, Bobby says, "You know we're coming back in three weeks, right?"
"Oh." says Adam, and calmly walks out the door. "I forgot we were coming back."
Adam sighs. "It's a shame we won't be able to find any place with that hot rum cider on the road, though, huh?