Chuck Foster sat alone in his darkened living room – an empty shell lost in a raging sea of thought. His mouth was dry and tasted of stale booze and vomit. His head spun like a plate on a stick in a circus act. He had been slumped in the same chair for more than three hours, a faithful bourbon bottle his only companion.
Bad things happen when you push your luck, and I pushed mine too far…
The accident earlier in the evening played over and over in his mind mimicking a terrible home video, an endless reminder. Morose, he drank another glass, followed by another, then passed out.
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