I don't think I need to tell anyone how drunkenness during the daytime is different.
But when you're walking across the street and you witness a friend jump onto the back of a flatbed truck, and then jump off as it reaches speeds of 30, 40 miles per hour, its positively surreal.
Passing strangers are shocked with hands over their mouthes, laughing. “Oh my god... Thats how drunk kids die.”
His fingers are all black, and he's bleeding from the elbow, but other than comatose-dream shock and “I can't believe that just happened,” no one has anything to communicate. Maybe because on some subconscious level we understand why, at that very moment, on this very street, he had to jump onto the back of a moving vehicle.
There is nothing to explain, it was just the right thing to do.