"My next drink?" Oliver beamed at Charlie. "I knew there was a reason I like hanging out with you! Now tell me, how are drinks in Romania? Do you get the same stuff? You know the Transylvanian Beater, Vasilescu? He brought a bottle of some self-brewed stuff to an after-game party."
Oliver grinned and shuddered in recollection. "I thought the stuff was going to disintegrate my intestines. I think I saw a drop hit the floor, too." Oliver leaned over and bravely attempted to look remotely serious. "The stuff ate its way through stone." He nodded in emphasis.
"So how about we go stretch our legs a bit next Friday? You're still around by then, aren't you?"