We were going at it for three days. Water. Beer. Fruit. Matthew’s weekend — he’s a waiter — is Sunday through Wednesday. And, on Sunday, at 4:20 sharp, we super-sized mimosas while he closed out his brunch shift, picked up a six of the latest microbrew for the ride home, slammed a few shots of whiskey down on the rickety kitchen table when we stopped at my place, then grabbed veggie burritos and sangria at midnight to keep us going. For three days.