Just one, it'll take no time at all. It's just good hospitality. I can't let you go without--

[ He shakes his head. It's pretty easy to fall back into social adequacy, even while drunk, now that he's had some time to let his crisis unfurl. He'll take pleasantries where he can get them.

He pats Maskin's chest with his other hand, laughing slightly. ]

Don't you worry, I've got a stronger stomach than all that. [ He grasps a little at his tie as he stumbles again. ] So, what kind of writing do you do? Fiction?