One of them had the bright idea of sneaking in some alcohol, disguised in a large bottle of cranberry juice. He poured out half the juice and replaced it with vodka, before discovering that this cranberry juice was the unsweetened kind, and that drinking even a sip of it instantly dessicated your mouth and made your tongue convulse and sent sharp waves of acid pain zipping horribly through your mucous membranes and into your brain. But he’d spent money on the stuff, so he kept drinking it. After thirty minutes in the cinema, he’d polished off the entire bottle and was starting to show signs of distress. He kept lolling around in his seat. His head seemed too heavy for his neck, and he would disturb the other viewers by mumble-shouting fuck yeah! at entirely random points in the film.