VII. The drunk.
"Care for a drink?" He smells. He's slouching on a couch, next to a liqour cabinet. It's mid-morning.
"Oh, I see you're not interested.. hmm.. well." He turns his attention to his mostly-empty glass of whiskey, turning it in his hand. Then he looks at the bottle in his other hand. Suddenly he perks up.
"Ah! I have just the thing." He downs the remainder of his glass and opens the cabinet. "Nothing beats this one. An old classic." The bottle is another whiskey, which he promptly pours into his glass and a fresh one.
"Let me let you in on a little secret," his voice lowers. "This bottle never runs out. And it never gives you a hangover! I don't always drink it, because.. I don't know.. it just seems too good to be true. But I always drink it on special occasions, or around special people."
He brightens and speaks loudly again. "Here ya go. Drink up!" He belches, drinks, belches again. "Whew! Nothing beats it. This is paradise, you know. It doesn't get any better than this."
He takes another swig and smiles. "No really. This. Is. Paradise. Really! This is it."
"Don't you see?"