Vomit makes your teeth feel especially soft. Somehow even more so when you’re watching it drip down the concrete exterior of an apartment building, clutching your gut as if it’s ready to burst free and flee from you like a rat from a sinking ship. I feel the beginnings of an ache coming on in my mouth, and I try to remember when the last time I saw a dentist was, but I can’t. None of that matters now, anyway. It’ll all be over soon enough.
The threatening toothache passes along with the anxiety, but the vomiting isn’t entirely without repercussions. A familiar dread begins to creep into me. Sobriety. The liquor pot is empty, and it must be refilled. I need fuel for the fire. Warm breath, stoking the embers within. Making me stronger. Better. Expunging the doubt that’s preventing me from doing what I know needs to be done. The end is coming soon. Forty-six and two, just ahead of me. I am the Stake. I am Mister Wry. Corrupter of weary souls and upholder of all that is good and true and American and approved and sanctioned by the cosmic forces of consecrated misery and absolving death. I think there’s a liquor store a few blocks back. Chances are I’ve already been there tonight. Who knows? Maybe that’s where I just came from before I ended up here, slumped over and barely even alive. I can’t remember…
submitted by /u/Verrgasm
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