You: Puking all over the bar at Legion, the “strands of puke-saliva” dripping softly from your pouty lips into your hand.
He: 25-year-old patron of Legion on Saturday night who has slipped in your grimy vomit and fallen deep in love. He would like to get a drink sometime, and maybe blow chunks of sweet nothings into your ears.
Realy hope this one works out! Nothing like young love in the spring time.