The Unhappy Pirate…
He carried his wits about him, his head, like a rock, solid in composure. His veneer would not last forever, as he almost always experiences the oddities of an opium induced spasm, as his mind was constantly blazed by this trenchant drug. He let its intoxicating chemicals whisk down his throat along with a jug of rum, terrible combination for those nay be Jack Sparrow. The rums sizzling warm liquid would splash down his throat, sloshing against his pharynx, his mind slowly dozing to a sleep, as his eyes would eventually clamp shut….
He woke up hours later, in an alley, alone. Tick… Tick…Tick… BURB… Drool spat out of his unfurled mouth as he was still slightly off wits, his ears, ringing from the sound of shouting guns that weren't there. None were there; it was just him, alone, dozing off into another torpid depressing sleep.