kisslostinink

Gray I walk into my favourite dive with a mission to dump my mind in drunken oblivion. I walk up to the bar and ask the steel haired tender for a bottle of Jack. She pulls the whiskey from the shelf and places it in front of me. “Thirty dollars”, she says in a weary monotone. I pull Jackson and Hamilton out of my pocket, unscrew the cap, and it begins. I light a cigarette, and take a long drag. I flick the butt with my thumb; the burnt paper and leaves float like poisonous snowflakes down onto the counter-top. Wisps of toxic pleasure snake out from its ember tip. The bartender hands me a shot glass and I pour my first