025. Drink; A Drunk Paul Revere
1768.
It was my third glass of ale and I gulped it feverously, every drop. I would have asked the tavern keeper of the Green Dragon Tavern for another round except a finger tapped my shoulder.
I turned to the person who is sitting by my left side. He had a wide, smug grin. “What are you so happy about?” I asked, then hiccupped.
“Should I be?” Paul winked.
“Should you be what?” I asked irritably.
“Happy?”
“Well, why are you smiling so smugly?”
He hiccupped too. “Think you can drink a fourth?” He rubbed some residue that was dripping from his bottom lip. Paul Revere was drooling. I might have laughed if it were not for this throbbing pain inside my head. Perhaps if I drink more glasses of ale, it will numb the soreness I am beginning to feel.
“Yes,” I mumbled, “but why should I?”
Paul winked again. “Care for a contest? Let us see who can outlast the other.”
“Pah,” I snorted. “We both know I will win. The last time this contest began, you lost. Two drinks and there you were, on the floor, sleeping like a wee babe. Your antics of cradling Sam angered him the last time this folly went underway.”
“I do not remember any of that,” Paul asked by scratching one side of his head in confusion.
“Of course not.”
He slapped my shoulder playfully, obviously choosing to ignore my warning. “Scared?” Paul challenged.
“Order me another glass,” I replied seriously.
Paul raised an arm and motioned for the tavern keeper. Soon the man approached, waiting.
“Another glass of ale for my young friend here, and I will have another mug of beer,” Paul said to the tavern keeper.
“It shall be done,” the tavern keeper said. He bowed slightly, took off quickly, and within moments our drinks awaited us.
“I love the service here,” Paul laughed, and slurped his drink.
“It is probably because Boston knows its silversmith well,” I remarked, and then I too began inhaling the dark liquid.
*
By my sixth glass, my vision was bleary. “Why… is tha rum dunthing?” I asked in slurred speech. My head sort of swayed but try as I might I could not keep it steady.
I slowly turned in Paul's direction, looking for him but he was not in his seat. I wondered where he had gone, and why he departed without saying a word. I shrugged but I happened to cast my vision down towards the floorboards. I blinked and rubbed my right eye with a thumb. I saw indeed something but it was difficult to trace the outline of the object. Squinting, I realized there was no object on the floor at all but a body and it was wide – burly. The body was snoring, I heard that much of unpleasent sounds. Paul Revere fell unconscious and after four drinks. It was his personal record.
“Tud you so I would win,” I mumbled to a sleeping Revere.
Lol. You just need to fine tune this piece and reword a few sentences, and it'll be great! 
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