Gutters I Have Known ...

'Twas an evening in October, I'll confess I wasn't sober,
I was carting home a load with manly pride,
When my feet began to stutter and I fell into the gutter,
And a pig came up and lay down by my side.
Then I lay there in the gutter and my heart was all a-flutter,
Till a lady, passing by, did chance to say:
"You can tell a man that boozes by the company he chooses,"
Then the pig got up and slowly walked away.

I am no stranger to gutters.
I have met many, all over the world, and often face first.
It used to be my proud boast that I had been thrown out of some of the world's finest establishments.
Once in Acapulco, I even had the living shit kicked out of me while lying there.
(A fine drink that Coco Loco.)
I was barely missed by a street sweeping machine outside Count Suckles Q Club in London, (Rum & Ganja) and narrowly missed the drunk tank in Vancouver. (Rum again)
New Zealand has fine gutters.
I have had in depth discussions with many, usually on March the 17th. (Guinness)

Now I clean them with a square mouth shovel.
Kilometre after kilometre of them.
One must pay ones dues...