A Cheap Compress

I’ve got my shades on, hat down low. The smoke don’t bother me none.

 

Soft music fills the room. The hour; late. I sip cheap bourbon, ice clinking off the glass. The sound reminds me of my wedding, the taste is reminiscent of divorce. It burns.

 

Thinking. Time ticks by, all the songs merge and become one. Like the soundtrack to my life. One tune indistinguishable from the next.

 

Nondescript people pass my barstool. I pay them no mind. How can I? I’m too busy. Lost in my own world. Groovy.

 

My drink is gone, another beckons. I open my mouth to hail the bar keep. Nothing comes out. I’m dry. The Sierra has nothing on me kids.

 

My hand rises, two fingers twirling. Keep ’em coming the motion says. The keep understands.

 

Another hour and three drinks later. Life is pleasant. I shake a square loose, strike a match, and lay my money on the bar.

 

As I leave the keep asks me if all is well. I just grin and nod then turn to go. My visit has been short and bittersweet. I turn back deciding to share a bit of wisdom before I go.

 

Cheap bourbon is a fine compress for the soul. I stumble into the night and for once my mind is blessedly silent.

 

 

 

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