Bill sauntered down the steps and slopped himself onto the cot. I looked up from my desk and he managed to slur out "Liver..." before passing out. I would've been happy to move him, but I fear I'd need to disinfect anything that came near him
      I continued with my work, pouring over an old 22nd century manual that Terrence had found down south somewhere. Bill rose noisily something like 4 hours later and seamlessly continued his thought; he slurred out "I want another liver. A robot one, all mechanical and all. I wanna slam 12 shots and not feel a thing in the morning. I wanna pop outta bed the next morning and be ready to shoot a gun and run and all that shit." He heaved out the last word along with some stomach contents.