shit-faced

i was telling a friend of mine about the theory behind the urge to drink moderately heavilly in times of personal crisis. he's a recovering alcoholic, four years sober. we came to the conclusion after a long discussion--that the sweetness of the bourbon and the chill of the ice, does nothing to mask the sounds of the tourists, the faces of the homeless, and the feeling of helplessness. it doesn't inspire great feelings of generosity and mass-compassion, it only fuels the right hand to drop the glass off the balcony and into the crowd.

being shit-faced never made the emptyness go away, it enhanced it the way it burned the stomach.
we know better.
so why do we miss the bottle tonight?

are we human?