You’re walking down the dark street , towards your house. You see the warm orange light filtering through the gaps in the curtains at the window, a shadow moving around inside. Stumbling up the steps, you grapple with the keys.

But before you can actually put them in, the door swings open. You blink.

Bailey? You slur your words. She grins at you. A grin which morphs into a shocked look of concern as you begin to fall.

Whoa there, she exclaims, catching you. Jeez, you smell like alcohol. Are you drunk?