We’ve all been there before: lying drunk on a park bench as the night hours tick by, with your only company the incessant, buzzing insects. I’m there now. It’s a little chilly out, but it’s not cold enough to require a coat. I crashed on this bench because I just came from the bar and it seemed comfortable. Wind rustles my hair like an annoying aunt. Mellifluent birds soothe the silence. People walk by holding bags of stuff and they stare—to them, I’m some drunk. They think: he’s probably homeless. He doesn’t have a job.
I’ve got money. In fact, I run a company. It’s a small business. But people assume that, since I’m lying inebriated on this bench, I’ve done nothing. Most people, however, have been here before. Alcohol—the great equalizer. Politicians pontificate on how to end various societal ills; they want to make everyone feel ‘equal.’ Here’s my proposal—let me run for president!—and I think it’s nuanced: let everyone get drunk and remain so.
Always and forever.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m about to pass out.