'I need focus.' He said standing one footed on the chair with his third four finger scotch swishing lightly in his outstretched hand.

'Why is it I feel inspired when I'm inebriated?'

I paused. I knew there was more.
There's always  more.

'I mean, it's like when I'm without inhibitions,
it's easier to think I'm doing this right.'

'What you need is a lack of inhibitions.'

He put his other foot down and turned to face me watching him curiously from across the dining room.
He seemed shocked to see me. Like he thought he was alone in the room.
But relieved to see I was speaking to him again.

And content to listen for a time.

'It's not like it's a bad thing..
Getting silly faced is just an easy way to get your focus reined in by forcing those inhibitions to leave through chemical intervention.'

His shoulders slumped a little. 'But we both know what taking the easy way gets us.'

I nodded with encouragement. He figured it out.

He seemed relaxed to see I had affection for him again. He lifted his face to look into the mirror beside him and locked eyes with me.

He saw him. He saw he was I.

Better still, I saw myself. And I smiled at my own drunken reflection.