Chapter 7: "The Walk Home"

 There's Nothing Quite Like a Walshyys Party — Chapter 7: "The Walk Home"

The music had finally faded.

The last sparkler fizzled in an empty beer bottle. The flamingo was deflated. Baz had passed out wrapped in the unicorn float like some kind of inflatable burrito. Even Govna’s fog machine had given up, releasing one last puff of smoke like a tired old wizard.

Sgt. Salty stood by the gate, hands in his pockets, shirt unbuttoned, and frosting still mysteriously clinging to his left elbow.

“Heading off, mate?” asked Walshyys, now wearing nothing but socks and a traffic cone hat.

Salty smiled. “Yeah. Before I turn into a statue of myself.”

He gave a final nod to the few remaining partygoers. Sarah blew him a kiss from a pile of beanbags. Susan waved, still holding a plate of leftover cake. Ashfling raised her glass like a queen from the shadows.

And then… he walked.

The night was cool and quiet now. A gentle breeze blew confetti across the footpath. The moon followed him like a nosy neighbour.

With each step, Salty’s mind drifted.

He thought of Sarah — wild, warm, and dangerously good at slow dancing.

Of Susan, whose chaotic joy could set fire to a cold room.

Of Ashfling, always watching, always knowing, always fabulous.

Of Purrty, with her wild advice and even wilder heels.

He smiled remembering Baz’s brave karaoke performance, and the way WhizzAir Winky vanished into the fog like a gremlin on roller skates.

He chuckled thinking of Ye Olde Large Lad’s legendary toast, slurred and poetic. And Govna, who might now legally own a fog machine and a war crime.

They weren’t just party animals. They were his animals.

His dysfunctional, glitter-covered tribe.

People he trusted to have his back — whether in a bar brawl, a buffet line, or an emotional dancefloor moment.

The streetlight flickered above. Salty paused, looking up at the stars.

“No place I’d rather be,” he muttered to no one.

He stumbled slightly on the curb. “Except maybe in bed. With crisps.”

And with that, he walked the final stretch home — tired, happy, a bit sticky, and full of memories only a Walshyys Party could create.

To be continued…

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