The way the guy stared at him when Joe suggested he might tell convinced him more than anything that he really had no clue what had happened to them.
"Amen to that, brother," he said. This was definitely not something he wanted to remember at all. Ever.
"I really hope I don't ever see your face again." He kept backing down the hall, still not trusting completely that the guy wouldn't try something.
When he reached the living room he turned and beat a hasty retreat. Jesus he hoped Leslie was still asleep. He would cut off a finger before he told her some pervy British fag had somehow drugged him and gotten him into bed. Ah, Jesus fucking Christ he needed a shower. And then he would set his prodigious will on repressing this entire, fucked up morning.
He thought about slamming the door as he left, but at this point discretion was definitely the better part of valor and shut it quietly behind him.