To be or not to be, fucked up on whiskey, that is the question.

I drank through the buzz of befuddlement into perfect clarity and out again into the blissful confusion of true intoxication.

One sip of this will bathe the drooping spirits in delight, beyond the bliss of dreams.

There is no bad whiskey. There are only some whiskeys that aren't as good as others.

Alan Campbell opened one eye.

From somewhere in remote distances, muffled beyond sight or sound, his soul crawled back painfully, through subterranean corridors, up into his body again. Toward the last it moved to a cacophony of hammers and lights.

Then he was awake.

The first eye was bad enough. But, when he opened his second eye, such as rush of anguish flowed through his brain that he hastily closed them again.

There was a kindliness about intoxication - there was that indescribable gloss and glamour it gave, like the memories of ephemeral and faded evenings.