Gold Nuggets Of Knowledge Garnered From Back Alley Philosophers
"I tried that work thing and I just couldn't get behind it. I mean, you go to work,  you get off, you eat some awful meal, you watch some t.v., you go to bed, you wake up and then whole fucking thing stars over again. I mean, there's just no end to it."
Rolly, age 33, unemployed and loving it under a tree along Speer Ave.

"Detox isn't as bad as everyone says. I make a game out of it. I pretend I've been captured by alien robots disguised as humans who are conducting experiments on me. And I just play along, pretending to not know what they're up to. See, it can be fun."
Jose P., age 40, evading the alien robots' grasp three blocks from Hi-Lo Liquors.

    "I don't drink to escape or to forget or because I can't handle real life. I drink because whiskey is the key that sets the monkey free."
Daniel at the Lion's Lair Lounge, getting an early start on the afternoon.

    "My daddy drank, grand-daddy drank, my goddamn great grand-daddy drank, and I'll be goddamned if I'm going to drop the ball now."
James K., age 27, keeping the tradition alive and well three blocks from Paul's Liquors.

    "You evil fucker! Oh, you got me this time. Back's broke. Laying in my own piss. Oh, you got me now. My mama told me this would happen and I packed my bag and hit the road anyway. Ah, fuck it."
Alabama Bill, age 45, paralyzed by treachery and wine, moments before his miraculous recovery.

"Wine is my woman, my buddy is beer. Whiskey is my father and water is what I wear."
Jack, age 26, a block from Paul's Liquors, inspired to poetry by two 40s and an early morning rain.

"I used to be a millionaire, I lived on top of the Empire State Building. They called me Earl the Pearl. Then I got tired of all the attention."
Earl, age 53, lounging on a downtown bench, explaining why he gave his riches for the wino way.

    "I don't need this . . . yes, sir, I'm getting up . . . I live over there . . . my sister fell down the stairs, hospital bull . . . no record, sir . . . can't help a guy out . . . ah, who gives a shit, I just want to lay down."
No name volunteered, startled from his midmorning nap behind a dumpster two blocks from Argonaut's.

    "Of course alcohol is good for you. I don't need a doctor to tell me that. I mean, just look at me."
Al, age 47, strolling down Broadway, weighing in at a strapping 255 lbs.

    "Hooooooooooweeeeeeeeeeee! That'll kill those worms!"
Preacher, age 50, taking his morning constitutional in the alley behind Wax Trax.

    "Every time I even think about quitting drinking I cry blood."
Crazy Mike, basking in the sun, watching the river go by.
 
    "People are shit."
Angela, age 32, not waiting for a bus at bus stop no. 131 on Colfax Ave.

I'm staggering home.