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It had been Two weeks since Husk had heard from Angel, and three weeks since they had a real conversation. The earth continued its orbit; it was now mid-December, but Husk wasn’t quite in the Christmas spirit.
Despite where his mind was at, he tended a bar just past the dancefloor of a sticky club. Loud lights flashed, The room was damp from sweaty dancers, and it smelled of cheap perfume. It was a steady night; few patrons floated by the bar, but they came in waves.
He kept cutting his eyes between his phone and the bottles behind him. The bottle's curves and edges looked so enticing in the light. He imagined the bottles breaking, sloshing out over his body and into his mouth. It would drown him; sweep him away from this place to a paradise he couldn’t even dream of.