In my younger days I lived in San Francisco for a year, at 1880 Vallejo, 4 or 5 blocks straight downhill was a JIB, after a night of copious drinking, I’d come home, get a jones for some Jack, start to walk, which turned into a trot which turned into an involuntary full out run, couldn’t stop if I wanted to, which in my state of mind, didn’t much occur to me, don’t know why I wasn’t hit by 100 cars, the stagger back up the hill was a pita, but worth it with my bag of Jack’s goodies