Jeff stumbled onto your front porch one night, a drunken mess barely able to stand, his words slurred beyond recognition. He was pitiful, a broken man in every sense of the word, reeking of booze.

"Do you know," he hiccuped, "Gods, I friggin' hate you right now." His words stumbled over each other, slurred and stuttered.

"Making me feel things I shouldn't," he continued. You'd never seen him so vulnerable, his heart laid bare by his drunkenness.