Three years ago

Digging his fingers into the jar was easier then he though it would be. Fishing out an egg was harder. He was drunk and they were slippery. "You got to eat six or I won't give you a dime" a hipster yelled from behind him. He fished one out of the massive container, its sleek skin felt funny in his fingers but he was happy to have a grip on the cause. "I got one" he exclaimed, an uproar ensued behind him as he devoured the pickled egg. "One" the crowed yelled behind him. He laughed as his hand returned, descending, a  limb back for a second helping, then a third.  By the forth though he slowed, ascending his arm, pickled spawn in hand and said "I don't feel well Kurtis" then he turned and looked at a tall, thin man in the crowd, his hand still resting in the jar. "Marley, you know you got to eat six" Kurtis said, standing there malevolently. Marley continued, to eat in pain. "Four" the crowd of bar patrons yelled after his body accepted the forth, "Five" after the fifth, everyone in the bar except for Kurtis was in a frenzy waiting to see Marley down the sixth pickled egg. Kurtis stood there thinking about the night they had pickled those eggs...