The 'real' Ferg, as if there were such a thing

One of the great things about Ferg – the real Ferg – was that he had a way of bending space entirely around him without making you mad at him.

Late one night he called me in Xxxxx, waking me up. The conversation went something like this:

Me: Ferg? WTF????
Ferg: Hey.
Me: Where are you?
Ferg: I’m in Yyyyy.
Me: You’re supposed to be in Zzzzz tomorrow.
Ferg: Yeah. Probably I won’t make it.
Me: Fug...
Ferg: I might be able to make it, if you picked me up at the train station in Aaaaa and drove me to Bbbbbb. I can catch a ride from there.
Me: What am I, your friggin’ taxi now?
Ferg: I was just saying . . .
I picked him up. The bottle he pulled from his coat only partly made up for it.