" Fine. I'll leave."
The bottle tosses just as easily as anything else,but in her drunken stooper, she grips the wrongone, wasting several ounces of vodka on makinga point behind the cat, hitting the wall and shatteringinto a mess of shards of glass and splashes of alcohol.
“Fine! Leave! I didn wann you heeere annyw—”
The watering in her mouth only enhances each andevery word, slurring the syllables together until theyare nearly unrecognizable. Her stomach churns, andthe first wave of sickness washes over her.
Just another argument stemmed from too much vodka.











