DRUNK

Why are you walking like that? Why is your mood always so dangerously high? Why do you keep seeing double? Because what's flowing through your veins is not blood — it's premium Chinese baijiu. Liquor, gloriously burning, gloriously boiling. Have you, by any chance, gotten into the habit of pouring strong rice wine into your insulated thermos and chugging it like it's tap water? What a magnificent thing baijiu is! It turns you into the wittiest person at the dinner table and, three hours later, into the philosopher hugging a public toilet bowl in confession. It convinces you that you are the bar's resident poet, the unkillable flame at the center of the universe — right up until 10am the next day, when your face looks like a cracked walnut, there's something unidentifiable in the corner of your mouth, and your soul is curled up in a corner of the room. That is the moment you finally accept it: the loud, table-pounding philosopher from last night has become, officially, a Drunkard.