Nov 3, 2023

0 8:15 am & 3 sheets to the wind

Dressed in a red sweat shirt, light blue jeans, black hat with a solid white line around the folded rim with a packed black knapsack thrown over his right shoulder, he groaned and staggered in the streetcar. His left hand holding the rail to secure his balance and an open can  of Twisted Tea (a malt beverage with real black tea and citrus flavors brewed like beer with 5% alcohol) clutched in his right hand. "Huh, huh, steady, steady," he whispers to himself. He could barely stand. He slightly stoops reconsiders, straightens up, slightly stoops again, straightens up and contemplated the floor as if considering to sit down. He bends unrest his Twisted tea on the floor of the streetcar, takes off his nap sack he rested on the floor and proceeded to have a conversation with himself. Face bloated and slightly pink he swades back and forth rumbling whispering to himself I'm open periodically like he wants to vomit 🤢. 

I watched him from left periphery, ready to jump in the case spews. I stood a bit anxiously as my stop was announced and bolted in gratitude relief as I exited. 

Three sheets to the wind (drunk) at 8:15 a.m. in the morning and unsteady on his feet.  I don't think he will make it to wherever he's going without throwing up. I am just glad I will not be there to experience any of it. Yuck.

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