Status: Complete!
Another Bottle of Whiskey, Why the Hell Not?
Chapter 1
His boots drag on the ground, the soles getting wore down under his aching feet. His fingernails scratch at his facial hair. The alley smells of yeast and cigarettes, sex and depression. Does depression even have a smell? He doubts it, but a little comparison of emotion to smell never hurt anyone. Has it? No, impossible. As impossible as him being able to stand straight. He sighs as he hobbles out of the alley, squinting as the bright street lights hit his eyes. He looks to his left, ah, there it is. The bar sign.
The bar smells like 40 year old, unshaven, alcoholic men. And really, if he's being honest, he's just adding to the stench. The girl behind the bar chews her gum loudly asking what he wants. Poor him a glass of whiskey and he'll be set. Some more money down the drain, not like it matters. Not like he has anything else to do with his life besides sit here in a bar.
Girls in short skirts and belly-revealing tank tops come and go. He stays, drinking glass after glass of whiskey. It's like something out of a Woody Harrelson movie. Only without the happy ending. It's not even pessimism at this point. It's just being realistic. He rubs his hand roughly over his eyes and slaps a fifty down on the bar counter, telling the girl to keep the change. He chugs the whiskey left in his glass and heads for the door, cringing at the sound the bell makes as it hits the glass on the door. Does he not have the most exciting life? Oh but he does, you just wait and see.
The bar smells like 40 year old, unshaven, alcoholic men. And really, if he's being honest, he's just adding to the stench. The girl behind the bar chews her gum loudly asking what he wants. Poor him a glass of whiskey and he'll be set. Some more money down the drain, not like it matters. Not like he has anything else to do with his life besides sit here in a bar.
Girls in short skirts and belly-revealing tank tops come and go. He stays, drinking glass after glass of whiskey. It's like something out of a Woody Harrelson movie. Only without the happy ending. It's not even pessimism at this point. It's just being realistic. He rubs his hand roughly over his eyes and slaps a fifty down on the bar counter, telling the girl to keep the change. He chugs the whiskey left in his glass and heads for the door, cringing at the sound the bell makes as it hits the glass on the door. Does he not have the most exciting life? Oh but he does, you just wait and see.