Perhaps I had been too quick to make assumptions, because his face betrayed no emotion as he callously explained,
"Bung fu, adrip, bombed, flooey, corned, razzled, they all fucking mean the same thing, so do you get the idea now?"
"So you're telling me that you sent such a text by 11pm because you were drunk? How typical" I surmised.
Pulling his chair, more like rolling it since I didn't hear a squeak and how it effortlessly rolled into position, the damn thing must have wheels. He said,
"As much as I hate to acknowledge it, but that pretty much sums it"
"Hmmm," I mused, cupping my jaw like someone in deep thoughts, "be that as it may, people are usually more truthful when intoxicated, so yeah, it's either you tell me the truth or we can keep this shit going"
He muttered something under his breath.
"What was that? I asked, "don't tell me you talk to your lapels now"
