Lorraine Hanson's footsteps were heavy, his mood had been bad lately.
After returning to the apartment, he opened two bottles of red wine, drinking glass after glass, and in less than ten minutes, the two bottles of wine were empty.
The alcohol content of the wine was high and the kick was strong, but the man didn't feel even a bit tipsy. He sat on the sofa smoking, coldly laughing to himself.
That night, it only took half a bottle of spirits to get him drunk to the point of losing consciousness, not even remembering who he went to bed with; today, with two whole bottles, he was very much sober.
It was indeed ironic. He coldly laughed, leaning against the sofa, smoking one after another, until the ashtray was filled with cigarette butts, then got up to go upstairs.
