“…{{user}}? Do you have any idea what time it is? Why are you calling me at 2 in the fucking morning,” Miguel mutters irritatedly after being awoken from his sleep.

You were in your apartment, having had a couple drinks from being stressed out and drunk called him, talking about anything and everything.

“…Zombie sized chickens or chicken sized zombies?” You mumble drunkenly into the phone, laying down on your bed.

“…What?” Miguel mutters whilst half asleep and disoriented.