My best Charles Bukowski impersonation

I didn't plan on returning but fate brought me back here, I hate fate! I let the bottle of Wild Turkey slip from my hands and secretly pray that the bottle will break, but it doesn't, the ground with all her indifference cradles the bottle that I know I'll finish before the night is over; even though, I feel sick & tired already. Why do I always find myself back here the same old hiding place that I used to go to ditch school. I feel old not that same kid. I never did dream big I always knew I'd become what I saw around me, miserable boring people that work all day and close bedrooms at night. I am the old part of the sick & tired there is no cure for this. I don't know why each generation thinks they have the answer to this and each generation becomes the lasts sick & tired.