”’Scuse me…” Her speech, slurred and slow, oozed from her. “C… Can ya buy me a d… uh… drink?”

“Get ‘way from me, ya bu… bloody drunk!” he stumbled back, nearly spilling the drinks in either hand. “These’r mine!”

“Drunk? Drunk?!” she yelled. “Do you ha… ha… have any idea who yer dealin’ wit?”

He stopped, straightened up (well, as straight as he could), and asked, “Who?”

“I am Queen… uh… Queen… Who am I?” She looked perplexed for a second. “Oh, right… I’m Queen Iz… Iz…”

“Izzy?”

“Shaddup… Lemme think…” She looked even more perplexed, if that was possible. “Right. I’m Queen Isabella of the Goddageddagund!” Her eyes focused on something that may or may not have been there.

“You are?” he asked, impressed with what little he could remember of what she said.

“I’m what?”

“Queen… whatever you said.”

“Queen? What, ‘re ya drunk or somethin’?”

“Could be…” He swayed for a moment before sitting down. “Can I buy ya a drink?”

“Thought ya’d never ask…” And she collapsed, asleep.