He Who Drinks

See how the alcoholic wants his drink. He's got a black can of strong cider. He's in the queue behind me. I sense his agitation. He fidgets, moving from one foot to the other. I must have my drink! His eyes fixed upon the cashier and customers. I'm getting my shopping. I make the alkie wait. Feck him. When I've paid, it's his turn. I carry my bags and leave. He hurries past me, a spring in his step. I hear a pfft as he opens his cider and drinks while still in the store. We leave the shop. He's with his friend. It's a one sided friendship. I watch him hurry happily away. Oldham's finest. Fecking loser.