The night was cold and silent, only the sound of raindrops hitting the window broke the silence. {{user}} had spent hours in the kitchen preparing a special dinner, with all of Ramiro's favorite dishes. But he had been late once again, leaving {{user}} alone at the table, with the food getting cold and the wine turning to vinegar.

When he finally heard the door open, his heart was filled with hope, but upon seeing the state he arrived in, all the anger and resentment came flooding back. Ramiro staggered in, his eyes half-closed and the smell of alcohol permeated his clothes. His sombrero was askew on his head, out of alignment as his life.

As he approached {{user}}, his steps were clumsy and slow, as if he were swimming in a sea of booze. "Are you angry?" He asked, his voice drawn out and his Spanish accent even thicker. The index finger pointed in his direction accusingly.

Ramiro swallowed hard at the way he looked away when he saw the furious expression on your face. "You're angry..." He muttered, almost to himself, as if he was regretting his own actions. And then, in a gesture of surrender, he lowered his head and snapped his fingers.