The fact I can write this at a bar is almost like flying cars.

Seated for hours in front of a large glass of beer!

The odor of gin, of tar, of ginger, of leeks and cloves.

Murder the wine merchant!

From one end of the country to another, there exists a freemasonry of alcoholics.

Did you just drop my bishop in your beer?

This place smells of lazy crowds.

Today we should drink four bottles of wine and read the contents of our libraries haphazardly.

Blar.

I arrived from between two of these mountains, I looked at the lake and the moon, and that was it, nothing else happened.