THE DRUNK

   Jimmy stumbled into a lamppost. Reeling, he attempted to lower himself gracefully to the curb. He failed. Instead, he leaned precariously to one side with his arm wrapped around the post. The arm slid from the post, and he dropped into the gutter. His face rested in a shallow puddle of black water with an oily rainbow swirl floating on top. He didn’t move. He was asleep.
    Around midnight, a patrol car, the only patrol car in Slatesville, cruised to a stop near the huddled form in the street.
    “Jimmy,” said the officer leaning from the shotgun seat window. “Jimmy!” he shouted. There was no response.
    “Frank,” said the officer driving, ”get out and roust him. We’ll take him in, and he can sleep it off.”
    “He’s already sleepin’ it off, looks to me,” said Frank, getting out of the car. “One of these days he’s gonna get his ass run over layin’ out in the street like this.”
    “I know, I’ll give you a hand.”
    Jimmy was the town drunk. Jimmy would be the first to admit it. “Damn right,” he would say, then adding, “and why not? Got’ny better ideas?” Then he’d pause, swaying, concentrating to keep his balance and say, “fuck it!” Funny thing about Jimmy. In the morning, he’d wake up sober as a post. Even with three hours sleep he’d be cognizant, steady, and ready to go. By noon it would be over. He’d be off on another toot. This happened every day. This was Jimmy’s ritual – his religion. Like a genie, his god lived in a bottle, and Jimmy would partake in the holy essence. He maintained a continuous communion between himself and the liquid divinity.
    Ever since Jimmy had arrived in Slatesville from nobody knew where 15 years ago, his routine hadn’t changed. He worked odd jobs, but never stayed on any one of them very long. He’d take a job in order to make enough money to keep himself going for a couple of weeks. Then he’d quit or get booted. He would work for a few hours each day until he was too drunk to go on, then hole up in his favorite spot among the concrete and steel supports under the King’s Highway Bridge. This was his home.