Words: order, whiskey, empty, lift, touch, frothy, dish, singe, breathe, cottage, eggs, smoke
Bill lifted his head off the pillow with a groan. Had he really been the only one to empty that bottle of cheap whiskey? It had been years since he had touched the stuff and now here he was beginning a whole new chain of events that start his path to nowhere.
Last night he remembered walking into the bar on South Street. He was hit with a wall of smoke that singed his lungs, making it hard to breathe. Sitting at the end of the bar he had wanted to order a beer, the frothy head leaving a light mustache above his upper lip. He couldn’t recall now what had made him change his mind.
Running to the bathroom, Bill recalled ordering a dish of hash and eggs; both of which were creeping up his throat, ready to erupt like a giant volcano out of his mouth. He never did learn that eating and whiskey did not go well together.
Bill reached the toilet in the cottage just in time to retch into the bowl, rather than the floor or the tub. That made his life a little easier, just not less painful or humiliating. The worst part of it all was that he couldn’t recall who he talked to last night and what he may have said. Would he be able to show his face at work after a night like that?
©2020 CBialczak Fiction