the word of god vs my drunken heart

A cold night. A boy comes to my door to spread the word of God. "I'm sorry," I said, "I can't quite talk at the moment. I'm having dinner now." Then he talks to me in Chinese. I did not expect this blond-haired boy to speak Chinese. "Your Chinese is very good," I said. "Your English is very good too," he said to me. He left me a booklet with Jesus on the cover, and away he went to the next door.

A glass of cognac pouring slowly as this dark and clear liquid slowly fills up what I see before me. I turn off the music and it becomes clear again, clear as in things begin to look like things. A bed looks like a bed. A pencil case looks like a pencil case. Even these letters I see on the screen before me begins to look like they actually make sense. Sometimes I think it all sounds better with music on. But this glass-of-cognac-pouring-all-over-the-screen sort of sensation can be a bit too much, almost distracting at times. The drunken heart is better saved for something else.

My ability to tap into my drunkenness at any time puts me a step above them slouch-backs at them pubs and night clubs.