Disclaimer: I own nothing.
"If you're trying to drown your sorrows, they know how to swim."
As an introspection, it's bitter, but now it's an invitation for council, and in any other circumstance it might inspire confidence.
But for this particular drunk in this particular bar, it's a knife to the gut. It brings back too many memories; memories of black ooze and black water, of the crimson of fresh blood, of the damp tan coat still folded up in the back of his car. Of what is, and what could have been.
"That's just it," the man replies, taking another swig. "They don't."