I haven’t had a drink in over a week, not a drop, I swear. Hell, I’ll swear on my mother’s life if that’ll make you believe me. Oh right, well, I’ll swear on her eternal soul then, if such a thing exists. No. No I’m not getting into that right now. It’s just a figure of speech. You can go right on believing whatever you like, it’s no skin off my back. To each his own, I always say, as long as it don’t hurt nobody else, that is.
Hurt you? Now how did I do that? But I told you I ain’t lying. I haven’t been drinking. Not since the last time. I learned my lesson. Hell, I learned more than that. I don’t think I’ve ever been sicker. My insides still feel all scratched and fragile. I know I’m not a young man anymore. It don’t turn around so fast. Maribeth who? Never heard of her. Unless, ain’t she the grocer’s daughter? The one touched in the head?
Well, I don’t know who’s whispering in your ear, but they might want to have their eyes checked. I haven’t set foot in the tavern. No I haven’t. Which three people? All them came to you and said they saw me in there, drinking and carousing? Well, it ain’t true. It’s not. None of them can see three feet in front of them after a few drinks anyhow. And that one, she’s a real gossip, too much time on her damned hands. Got nothing better than to meddle in other people’s affairs and then wait for a catastrophe. Hell, I saw her drilling holes in the fence around her place just to keep a better eye on the neighbourhhod.
I don’t know how many times I can say it. I haven’t had a drink in a week. Don’t you walk away. You leave now don’t expect me to welcome you back tomorrow. Fine. Go on then.