Wilbert scooped out the last of spiked watermelon, scraping the bottom.
He had prepared three of these for the party, cautiously carving out a hole in each, then upending a bottle of vodka in one, rum in the second, and peach schnapps in the third. He wanted to provide choice.
Wilbert hadn’t labelled the watermelons, believing that an invisible hand would allow partygoers to choose the one they liked the most.
Now, as he sat on the patio, scooping out the last of the peach schnapps melon, Wilbert looked around. He lifted his glass, muttered a “Cheers”, and carved a chunk out with a spoon. He teetered in his chair, far too sauced to stand. He looked over – two watermelons left to go.