Well, it's morning here, on Front Street and Dolver, and it feels like this whole town's hung over, and the potholes look like they would rather just go back to bed. Hunchback buildings, bloodshot windows, and there's a Buick passed out in my gutter, and the parking meter, which is called in sick instead. Well, the crack in the sidewalk is yawning, and that storefront window's head is pounding, and that hydrant's waiting for the hair of the dogs come stumbling on by. So I brought my eyeballs up on the front stoop, and I watched that chimney over there cough up some yellow soup, and I recall that year mad at me, but I can't remember why. Oh, completely escapes me. Well, sometimes I drink, and sometimes I get drunk, and sometimes I...