Last night I stumbled upon a Drunk man. A man of the streets. In his eyes I saw a fiery glow of intent and in his hand, the half empty bottle of spirit. He staggered towards me, muttering at first and then shouting. Shouting at the top of his voice until he deafended me with his incomprehensible taunts and explosions. I felt his breath upon me, smelt his sour breath in my nose. He so was close. Then he toppled, away from me onto the floor with a crash. And there he lay, caressing the bottle as if it were some forgotten lover, happy he had found his bed for the night. I walked on.