The drunkard staggered, here to the right and there to the left, following the general direction of his star. Disheveled but in this moment merry, his laughter disrupts his neighbors’ sleep this night, his loud voice waking the fathers and mothers, the old and the young. Yet, he shall be silent in his cursings, as they are now silent in theirs; when morning and wakefulness and the terrible weight of sobriety comes to crush him in his misery, their every light step, their breakfast chitchat, shall be to him fresh peals of thunder from which he cannot escape without wine.
The Drunkard
Tale Told 