Drunk Bearded Man, for the cigarette you’ve bummed me on the bench beside the bar. It accompanied the 32 ounces of Pabst Blue Ribbon I consumed nicely. Let’s chat of motorcycles, woodworking and bourbon brewing.
You start to slump, eyes heavy.
Drunk Bearded Man, I hope all is well. You’ve begun to meditate, trying to suck down your incessant hiccups. You dropped your cigarette. Your searching your pockets for the lighter next to you to smoke another.
Crickets chirp. Someone just broke the triangle on the billiards table inside. You’ve fallen, unable to stand up.
Isn’t tonight perfect?