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Standing at a point between momentary bliss and the desperate desire to not fall within the void I consider the recent events leading me to this place. Stupid drunken lullabies echo through my head as I gamble with gravity one foot raised high the other planted clearly on the edge. Impatiently I ignore the cries and plea's from others to come back from where I now linger, their fear non of my concern. It is the decision that lingers before me that engulfs my entire being as if life within all existence has frozen for me alone, this moment within itself becomes all that is, was or shall ever be.

Although the event lasts only moments to those who have not been lead to disastrous or possible benevolent choice that now controls every sense I own, to myself resting unevenly upon the edge this is a moment that stretches beyond my concept of time.

Friends I've had friends I've lost pass through my mind, bottles glasses and moments of sexual achievement filter through my clouded skull. A quick glance both forward and back almost sends me tumbling backwards... carefully I gain my footing.

Without warning, like lightning sans thunder, the decision is immediate and taken without consequence. With the agility of a two legged elephant I lean forward balancing on the blade of an edge that slowly fades from my feet. Grasping firmly upon the handle that brought me here I pull back and let it drown me into the void. My old friend Johnny comforts my body in a warm embrace not unlike the wicked nasforatu moments before draining your existence. I have chosen the latter, I have begun my descent.

With a maddening thunder I fall within the void. Shaken and disrupt I find myself staring up at a sky reflected back my face disfigured between the designs of my friends whom have joined me this night. My keeper and my dealer leans over her protective barrier of oak and demands in a shrieking hail...

"Brett your cut off for the night, someone get this drunk home"

Humph. Who does this Brett think he is, spouting his Shakespeare, aye, as he always is. But, you have to give him that, the poor fellow could use a friendly ride to the home. Being too tipsy to even stand on all fours. But still more or less capable of giving out a an empty speech and having his trousers just below his knickers. Year or two, and he'd have the age to become a politician. Hardly could do any worse job then the current lot.

"Brett, will you get your trouser back on? What would Mary be thinkin' if saw you like that yet again? Well, allright, lets take you back to home."