In the car's backseat, Emily Davis leaned there at an angle.
Her long, raven-black hair cascaded down, and her exquisite face was enveloped in a haze of drunkenness.
I glanced at her, feeling somewhat helpless.
Fortunately, I knew where her house was; otherwise, I wouldn't have known where to take her.
After driving for about ten minutes, we arrived at her apartment complex.
I helped her up and walked her to the building.
"Charlie... Charlie! Let me... let me ask you, that time... was it on purpose?" Emily mumbled indistinctly.
I was taken aback, "Which time?"
"That... crackdown on prostitution!"
"Oh, come on!" I muttered. How long ago was that incident? And she still remembers it.
"Of course, it wasn't on purpose," I stated seriously.
"Oh! Then... I believe you!" Emily mumbled.
While she spoke, her head leaned entirely over, resting on my shoulder. Her breath carried a mingling of fragrance and alcohol.
At the door, I took the keys from her bag and opened it.
