Zonked Sobriety

The bottles, looking sober, mutely wait till it's over. Between quaffs and hiccups, he mumbles that he had staggered and fell so many times, that he had tried zigzagging down society's proper paths to suit places and climes, that he can't help disappointing anyone, to him blazing and trekking trails are never crimes. With zonked sobriety, he winks at his tonic and gin and asks them conspiratorially: "Must my self-worth hang on to the crack in the crumbling crag loosening off perilously from the edge of the steep cliff of other people's opinions, and crash down, crushed cruelly?" The bottles, looking sober, mutely wait till it's over.