There was this once before the writing dried up and I became wet with beer piss. Once when the words showed up unannounced, dressed to kill the boredom between benders. They were holidays, stifling yawns on Monday at the office. Words came like young boys in the hands of young girls. Came like children on sleds in snowfall. Came like answers to prayer flags, to prayers on the lips of the old woman as the priest leans in with oil, the scent of almond on his breath and an answer to the question she wants to ask.