“Oh Yea” he said as he turned to the crack head sitting on the stoop near the edge of the bar. The light had crept in through the same old hole in the curtain just like it did the day before. Its beam cast across the room marking his temple as he turned towards it, picked up his glass, and threw it back.
As he turned back towards the bar he realized there was nothing left. His life was empty just like the glass he drank from, but his will was strong, the liquor still called and the chain holding him in place, he would argue, was the strongest of all the forces.
How could he break free?
He stopped comparing himself so long ago realizing his chains were no different than any others. “Chains are chains” he thought as he looked at the poor bastard sitting on the stoop. Yea it was always much worse for others since perspective wasn’t something cast by the light.
“Fuck it. Barkeep, pour me another”
Life replaced and consumed in fluid ounces, inhaled, and injected all to avoid living. He never gave up, and certainly never tried, only continued to paint a picture of desperation, grief, and struggle for years to come.