By this point, Twilight could hardly pay attention to the scenery anymore. Her head was sagging low, and her eyelids only allowed a slit of vision for two bloodshot eyes. Still, looking left and right, she could sort of see what Sweet Pint was rambling on about. A bunch of empty mugs caked with froth, crisp bowls filled with crumbs, chairs toppled over, unfinished games of cards, deflated balloons, an uncountable number of dirty paper plates...