closing time

I opened the door, felt the crisp air hit my face, and stared out into the dark, black void. I had to wait an extra thirty seconds for my eyes to adjust, too much to drink. Stupid. Stupid decision.

I turned back to the bartender. “I don’t recognize you.”

“I don’t know why you would.”

“You’re new here then? You’re new in town?” I tried to disguise the slurring. But this was the guy who’d been pouring me drinks all night, what was the use? Besides wasn’t that illegal or something? Didn’t he have to cut me off if I’d had too much?

“Would have loved to have this conversation a couple hours ago. If you come back tomorrow we can talk and share our life stories and braid each others’ hair or whatever but tonight, now, it’s time to go.”

“I won’t be here tomorrow. I’ll be dead tomorrow.” I slammed the door behind me, which threw off my balance. My face, red hot with booze, made first contact as the rest of my body spasmed, trying desperately to right itself.

A breath. The motel. I needed to get to the motel. I pulled myself up, too numb to rightly assess the damage. Keith took my keys when he left, so my only option was to walk the three miles.

 

[word count: 221]

small town
small town, part 2

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5 thoughts on “closing time

  1. Your piece was very well written and it got me thinking about drinking and when the crisp air finally hit me. I used to drink to have fun, it was never about helping me deal with my problems, or escaping from my life, or drowning out my sorrows. Sadly on several occasions I actually had too much fun and that made me realize that I don’t need to drink to have fun.

    Like

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