Teeth Like God's Shoeshine

I think my recent exploits with codename: 'Dave the homeless' must have given me some bonus Karma points. Win. Anyway...

I came home the other day and washed the taste of whisky, tobacco and conversation off my stale tongue. The walk home had been a chain smoking affair. My mouth was dry. The juicy conversation had been extracted from it. Now there was nothing to say. There was nobody to say anything to. A frost had settled in on the ground. A glistening blanket that made a satisfying crunch underfoot. I looked at the now seemingly soft tarmac and saw a frost coated leaf. No... I saw the word leaf, covered by the word frost. I wanted to take the leaf home, but knew the frost would fade in time. I imagined a disappointed magpie. Nicotine coated my brain and wrapped the alcohol up underneath. Lonely cars passed me at speed. Pointless descriptions of the moment. I've said too much.

And that, my friends, was a true story.