written by: Korliss Sewer
Once he told me there was no day beyond Tuesday, so I stopped looking. That he had found God with a swig of whisky. The last drop of whisky in his goblet of scripture.
We drank from a dead man’s flask and savored every sticky bead. We argued about who would die first. Like whoever croaks would get a prize or some shit like that.
It was a rough night. First, I grabbed my drink. Then, I grabbed the bottle. He was sure to upend our table, spilling my courage into the dirt.
We poured slowly into our oblivion and heard cicadas sing with the falling rains.