Whiskey, Whiskey on the Shelf [tag: Aziraphale]
“She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean, she was the best damn woman that I ever seen.” The words were uttered semi-rhythmically, mostly mono-toned with a hint of a slur reminiscent of someone who had imbibed an alarming amount of amber colored alcohol. That didn't stop the giant, scruffy redhead from attempting to sing them as he shuffled down the sidewalk. It was still mid-afternoon, a touch early for most men to be at the level of intoxication Sweeney was already at, and yet there he was.
He didn't have any alcohol on him at the moment and had been hoping to find a bar or store down the road at which to feed his addiction. A young woman that was laughing while she walked as if to pass him received a wide, toothy grin and a point as he continued his sidewalk serenade, “She had the sightless eyes, telling me no lies.” Then, with a lewd gesture to her groin and his, he sang, “knocking me out with those American thighs.”
The young woman slapped him.
Sweeney shrugged it off and was about to continue on his quest to find some booze when he came to a rather sudden an alarming conclusion...
He needed to take a leak.
The nearest shop, as Sweeney peered into the window, was some stuffy old bookstore. He wasn't opposed to books, but they were not the most entertaining thing he could think of to spend his time with. Regardless, if anyone was in there long enough, there was likely a toilet somewhere to relieve himself. Still singing, he pushed his way into the store, “taking more than her share she had me fighting for air... told me to come but I was already there...”
He didn't see a sign for bathroom. Hrm. “Hey,” he called out to whomever might hear him, briefly abandoning his song. “Yeh got a pisser in here someplace?”