I happen upon the inebriated, cutlass wielding man with the bicycle again. Tonight, he is the kind of drunk that lingers. I wonder if he is ever sober. He tells me that he was just paid a small sum of money for grinding the rubber off of several dozen table tennis racquets. I ask him to promise that he will not spend that money on alcohol. He replies that he doesn’t need to; he is running a tab at the bar. So he won’t have to spend any money tonight. He is going to purchase some food to eat, then return to the bar to a bottle that is waiting for him. I ask him to, at least, be careful. He laughs and rides away on his creaking bicycle.