The Lonely Drunk

He poured himself a glass of red and lifted it to his eyes, where he could stare into his soul.
He closed his eyes — swirled the red and swallowed it before it could settle.

He frowned as he imagined his reflection – drunk and bedraggled. That could settle somewhere below – preferably in his piss – not up and out with his breath.

“That’s enough don’t you think?” He knew that voice. It was the girl come back to his company.

‘Of course’, he thought, I’m an enjoyable fellow. The drink brings out the best of me.
He whirled around and came face to face with…the very male bartender.

“Consider that your last,” the bartender said.

“Consider this,” the man said, “That I shall not be returning that this – this, is t-the last drink I will take in your establishment.”

“Good,” The bartender turned away.

The man steadied himself to his feet.

He thought he should leave a parting gift– he felt bile boil to his throat – he let out a cute burp that went unheard.

It was as if a little bit of his soul had escaped.

Suddenly ashamed, he shambled towards the exit – to share – to drink with someone who cared.

***

Explore your Fiction.

Love your Reality.

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