It's Raining Frogs.

Each word that fell slurred from his lips fell to the floor and seemed to unravel itself. Each letter and syllable forming behind the next demarking an obvious distance. The alphabet puffed its chest and left ample elbow room between the characters. The line that was being drawn pushing itself a distance between their perceptions and ideas. Her mind was clear and becoming moreso. Clear that he didn't posses even the beginnings of a clue. She was burdened with trying to restrain her rare anger. There was no need to subject this place or herself with what was begging to happen. The fact remained that whatever she did at this juncture would most likely be left unremembered by him. Or if it was, would possess that sense of false ineffability that falls all over recovered drunken memories. They stand up for themselves with lazy indignation.

She would leave it to history on this one.