By the time they were done, Dante was also pretty drunk. Not as bad as Mira or Lyle, but he had gotten to the stripping point of his thresh hold. He had only managed to get off his shirt before Joe stopped him, so now he was sitting at the table with his shirt hanging off his shoulders, completely unbuttoned with his undershirt beneath it.  He was letting Lyle play with his hand while he used his other to prop his chin on.  All he could do while Lyle was speaking gibberish was stare back at him and giggle at the lunacy he was spouting. It would be a miracle if either of them got home without some help getting there. Still, they would have to get home. There was no way they were both going to fit on the couch here unless one of them lied on top of the other.