"Some guys in my dorm tried to make bathtub gin once," she replies, walking over to the little table and plucking up the wicker chair there. She lifts it with one hand so it doesn't drag across the floor and she plants it near his bed--there's nowhere else to sit and no matter what's actually crossed her mind a time or two (dozen) she is not actually going to just hop into his bed, thanks.

"They, like, watched gangster movies and got all these ideas. Two of them wound up in the hospital. So being able to properly make your own booze is pretty damn classy, to me."