Vide

"Do you like London?" I asked her, gesturing towards the street outside, the whole city.
"It’s so much warmer than new York, here," she said, and I knew that she wasn't referring to the temperature. "Wherever you're at is warm, anyway, and the beer also makes it warmer." Definitely more drunk than sober.
"It feels more like there's a history here, you know? I mean to say: this city is old, a lot older than New York, or any city back in the states."
"It’s better than Paris was, too,” she said. "Paris was a beautiful city, but it's so hard to deal with the French! They’re too caught up with being... French! London is like the perfect city, it's got a lot of history, but it's also got newness to it, a vitality of reality, like a working sort of grit or something. Paris was like being trapped in an old movie, everything was mothballed and preserved like it was trying to remain in the modernist era!"
"I’ll drink to that," I said, raising my glass. She clinked her glass against mine, and then turned the bottom up, draining hers empty. She belched loudly enough that the barkeep stopped polishing the countertop for a moment and looked at her, raising a bemused eyebrow.
"Seven," I rated her.
"Only seven? That was at least an eight," she argued.
"Six and a half, plus half a point for cuteness," I shot back. 
"Asshole," she kidded.
"Bitch," I kidded back.
The barkeep went back to cleaning the countertop.
"But the French!" she resumed the conversation. "The French, they had their heyday competing with Spain's little bullfighting thing, back at the turn of this century, right? It’s like they never really got over it, like they can fool everyone into thinking that they're still the most romantic country on earth and that Paris is like some fairy tale magical place where all loves blossom and grow!"
"They drink a lot of wine there," I pointed out. "They’ve all got a somewhat permanent buzz going on."
"God knows you'd have to get drunk every single day to live there," she answered, waving her hand at the barkeep to order another round. I finished my glass.
"We’re going to be way to drunk to make out," I cautioned her.
"Wimp. I'm never too drunk to make out!"