Midnight Medicines
I start with a sip and my glass refills itself when I walk away, an empty bottle behind the bar, costing me ten times its shelf price. I hazily and halfheartedly simulate sobriety, my squeals and haphazard whirling turns, fooling only those whose vision has blurred in front of and behind me. Stumbling towards the bar, I think I see a room full of cartoon faces. Then a round of unnecessary shots empties my sad, though glamorous, wallet as I tip the distilled liquid down my inflamed esophagus, Swallowing-away minutes of my life that I did not really want anyway. --Jessica Gleason