Jack was always drunk.
He drank to celebrate, he drank to mourn. to escape. to smile. to cry. to forget.
Jack was drunk the night he lit Jill's blouse on fire.
He was drunk when they ran up the hill, for water.
He was drunk when Jill "stopt -dropt-and-rolled", in order to ease the flames that singed her young flesh.
Jack was drunk when he fell down, and bumped his crown.
He was drunk
as she came
tumbling after.
I will never look at that story the same way again.
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