Vagabond Not a Drunk, Sometimes Unfortunate
I am not a drunk.
I say this with an odd sort of unfortunate reverance.
For sometimes I wish I could drown sorrows in a tub of whisky and stumble on into the next morning light.
Alcohol and tobacco are for the good times, when there is a smile on my face and few thoughts in my head. Befuddled thoughts become even more befuddled behind a drunken smile.
There is a jug of Jim Beam sitting beneath my bed. But it just sits there looking at me as I look at it. I know that it is not going anywhere anytime soon. I think we are going to sit this one out together and wait for the storm to pass.
Lonely Bottle, Empty Glass
We both know that smiles are made from the inside out.
Looking upon the bright sun of the new day.
Paths leading ever onward to horizons.
Strawberry fields forever, you know.
Links to previous travelogue entries:
Cockfight Culture and Tradition
Traveler Returns Home
Words of the Buddha
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