Fed up of the circadian rhythm, I rebelled against my own innate patterns of routine. I would brace myself against the wheel or be crushed by the weight of its bloated inactivity. Home and safe, overworked and underpaid. Or half a bean in my bindle and walking on hungry socks. Either way, something would have to give.
Darting towards my undone I grabbed what I considered to be fundamentals-
Lighter, phone, Kools cigarettes and a bottle opener. Doubling back towards the kitchen sink cabinet, where I kept hidden a half pint of Jack Daniels, tucked behind two bottles of Advil and a handful of 5 Hour Energy drinks. A corner pocket of my apartment I only visited at 4AM, or when the hearts clock strikes a zero hour. Pregame mistakes and hangover essentials which may have well read “In Case Of Emergency- Break Glass (before yourself.)”
Already I could taste the gunmetal of whiskey and poor decisions eating away at the edges of my insides, regret looming around the bend of another night I should have spent doing something else. A long list of life responsibilities and errands taking shape within my mind, obligations nagging me the cons of spending a night out in sharp and boldened bullet points I’d feel the exit wounds of come morning.
I braced myself and took the shot, groaning loudly before I grabbed my coat and went limping out the door.
I realized the dangers of going alone, but God forbid I went sober.