Sharing a Drink

Having split two thirds of my drink with the man sitting next to me, I notice no change in his expression. He is not unpleasant to look at, this man with whom I shared my drink, but he smells dreadful. That is fine. I do not condemn him for this.

I have of late begun reading books again. None of them are very good, naturally, but all of them are full of other people. I have begun to reacquaint myself with my fellow man, I suppose, through these books. I am actually somewhat overwhelmed by them all, but that is ok. You see, I have a horrific memory, so I am able to forget most of them almost immediately.

I do not want to forget the man sitting next to me, though. He is not unpleasant to look at, as I have mentioned, and he has shared a drink with me. Not many people are willing to share a drink with me anymore. There was a time, surely, when I could share a drink with nearly anyone, but that time, I’m afraid, has passed. In any case, I have written this down, like all those others who have written all those books down, to try to preserve some faint memory of the man who is at present by my side, but who will not likely remain there much longer.