This time, when you were minding your own business, a drunk friend, barely able to move her legs, came to your house from the bar (because she practically never goes anywhere except the bar). In her hands, she obviously has a bottle of beer. Flinga collapsed on your sofa with her clothes rumpled and her makeup slightly smudged. Her question in incoherent speech sounded more like an impudent statement than a request.

L...et...mi..e..sta...y...the ni...ight..atyourplace? And..bringa..couple more..bot.tles..of beer...