Advice is like the worm in a tequila bottle by George Gad Economou

took me a long while, heeding others’ advice for reasons I never

understood—sometimes, it’s to avoid their nagging, 

like I always did with my father. if I didn’t do things his way, 

wrong or right never fucking mattered, he’d nag and bemoan about it for weeks. 

or to avoid disappointing friends or brief relationships; heed their advice in things they supposedly knew more, the areas of their fancied expertise. 

only one thing I discovered; heeding their advice, and failing miserably because (in the brutal honesty that bourbon brings forth) they’re failures, led me into turning into a mean old drunk, ready to clock anyone, ready to murder my 

soul and dreams. 

now, when anyone offers me advice, I nod, smile, 

do shit my way.

if I fail, it’s alright; I’m used to it. 

if I ever succeed, well, I’ll rub it in their dumbfounded faces.

one of the things I wish I could tell my younger self; never listen to anybody.  if you die young, all the fucking better. 

I can’t; I mix bourbon and gin in the dive and the bartender leers at me, the tranquilizer at arm’s reach.

George Gad Economou holds a Master’s degree in Philosophy of Science and resides in Athens, Greece, doing freelance work whenever he can while searching for a new place to go. His novella, Letters to S., was published in Storylandia Issue 30 and his short stories and poems have appeared in literary magazines, such as Adelaide Literary Magazine, The Chamber Magazine, The Edge of Humanity Magazine, The Rye Whiskey Review, and Modern Drunkard Magazine. His first poetry collection, Bourbon Bottles and Broken Beds, was published by Adelaide Books in 2021.