A small man walked in the strangest way. Talking to himself, he walked and flicked at the air with his hands. ‘What’s wrong with him?’ The boy asked. ‘What do you mean?’ Replied his mother. She noted the small man with dignity. ‘He swats the air with his hands while speaking,’ said her son. His mother smiled slightly, ‘when we seat ourselves in muddled afterthought we all say a prayer. Look at the man walk. He is not empty of thought as most, and when he seats his thoughts, he’s swirling everything with insight and depth.’
copyright 2016 -M. Taggart
mtaggartwriter 
Drinking the last drop in the bottle is not drinking alone
for all men that passed drank
No man ever drinks alone
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Though this isn’t about drinking, I like your point of view.
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Thanks Matt
only you would of pick that up
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