Possessed said:
True story below.
So, I live in a neighborhood one might easily call a "ghetto". A couple months ago I was strolling the streets cadging for loosies. Outside the subway station, across the street from a liquor store, a chap I hadn't met struck up a conversation with me. He didn't have Kools or Newports to spare, but he held in his hand a bottle of a magic potion he brewed himself. 'Twas a mixture of vodka and malt liquor, a swill I had yet to consume.
He told me he had to catch the train in a few minutes and he wouldn't be able to drink it all himself, but if I had a cup, he'd certainly divvy up the hooch. "Good sir," said I, "while I am touched by your unselfishness and would love nothing more than to storm the ramparts with you... sadly I am not the type of lad who carries clean cups." He nodded, "Yeah me neitha." Then he guzzled half of it down without a snag. He held the bottle up the moonlight and kissed it good night. Then he tipped his hand and poured out a lil' liquor.
Then I found someone else to give me a fag.
