The Drunk Talk

"Well! Lookie who decided to show his face to me again, hah? Finally grew a pair while taking a piss, shit, whatever, did ya? Ready to take me on like the man you oughta be for my—hic—sweet little girl?!"

There he was, exactly where I had left him moments prior, the sleek, the smart, the immaculate picture of prim and proper. The very same man that calmly and effortlessly had me second-guessing every single word I said was now slurring and shouting his, upright but staggering, and even very nearly tripping on his chair that was now toppled on the ground for some reason. 

After formally extending his apologies to the poor chair, and tossing back a swig of absolutely nothing from a depleted wine glass awkwardly gripped in his fist, Mr. Collins promptly began vocalizing his hostility toward me with a constant low hum seeping out of a clenched frown. On the table, rolled and swiveled another empty glass… I'm guessing that one used to be mine.