Jefferson lies curled on the cold concrete. He looks more comfortable there than I do in my bunk. A semi-circle of firefighters, cops, and medics stand over him.
“Jefferson, how much have you had to drink today?”
Mumble-mumble-mumble.
“Come on, Jeff, let’s get up on the stretcher.” We assist him up and into the ambulance.
“Jeff, how much have you had to drink today?”
Mumble-mumble!
“Ok Jefferson, how old are you?”
Ain’t talking to you. I drink the fifth.
“Uh, what?”
Nuthin’ to say. I. drink. the. fifth. Mumble-mumble-mumble.
Notes from Mosquito Hill 