There she is, when the night is young she's quiet, and you have no idea that she's even there. Then, suddenly, as the night goes on and she gets more and more alcohol in her system it's almost like a switch is flipped. There are actually two different stages in this matter. The first stage is when she actually starts speaking, and the second stage is when she starts pouring her heart out.
She's there, she's a nice girl and you talk to her a little bit and other people talk to her a little bit. But she's not really responsive. A little later, she gets responsive and is talking like a normal human being. She's not a mime anymore, which is good. But she still is trying her best not to talk about certain things. Nobody around her knows why, and no one's asking.
Suddenly, it hits her. The alcohol has gotten to her and here it comes. You just get hit with a tidal wave of drunk emotion from this broad. "My ex boyfriend spent five days straight cleaning his drum. He never cared about me that much ever." Oh boy, the flood gates just opened and now she wont shut the fuck up about her ex. "I thought he loved me, but all he wanted to do was play his stupid fucking drums." This is always followed by the water works.
Now she's crying, she's way too emotional and you don't want to even deal with it. Who would? But the problem is that you just can't get away because you kind of feel bad. You then do the unthinkable. You console her. Why? Because grief is nature's most powerful aphrodisiac. Next thing you know, you're in the sheets with this girl and she's telling you how much she loves you. You then make up a story about how you're moving out of town forever the next day. There's no exchanging numbers because she would stalk you and you go on your way doing a good deed for society. It's a reward for you listening to the sob story.
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