A night of serious drinking with Cervantes always ends in tears. We drink until sunlight makes the electric light unemployed. In the morning a profound melancholy is experienced, so profound is this melancholy that we start to drink again.
Stop with the morning talk.
It happens every time, just like clockwork, like the bells tolling on the hour, after a heavy night of drinking there is always a fight. A ball composing of fingers and a thumb will collide with a mouth and teeth will be expectorated in a shower of spit and blood.
The only cure for this kind violence is to
And so, after the fight,
Cervantes has never been the same since he lost his left arm. It held the hand that he wrote with.
To this we drink.