“you know, man,” I told Jim as I held
up the triple Jim Beam on the rocks he had just
handed me, “this is gonna be my last drink.”
“yeah, right,” he scoffed, “as if you’ll ever quit drinking.”
“not what I meant, man. this is the last drink of
the shell of a man I’ve become. when I have
the next drink, I’ll be a new person; I’ll have a drink
as someone with a purpose, with some
reason to get up in the morning, ignore the brutal
hangover, and just do something.”
“I think you’ve already had more than enough,” he
chided me. “perhaps,” I concurred. “and that’s the
beauty of it. this will be the last
drink of the night and of the man I’ve been
since Emily died. when I have
the next drink, whether it’ll be in
fifteen minutes or twelve hours,
I’ll be born anew.”
“drink up and go sleep whatever this is off. I’ll see you
tomorrow.”
I did. and he did see me
the next morning. the beauty of
grand drunk proclamations is that
you can do them every
single fucking night and they
always feel fresh until some
creeping memory escapes the abyss of blackout.
George Gad Economou has a Master’s degree in Philosophy of Science, currently works as a freelance writer, and has published three novels and two poetry collections, with the latest being his horror novel, The Lair of Sinful Angels (Translucent Eyes Press). His words have also appeared in Spillwords Press, Ariel Chart, Cajun Mutt Press, Fixator Press, Horror Sleaze Trash, Outcast Press, The Piker Press, The Beatnik Cowboy, The Rye Whiskey Review, and Modern Drunkard Magazine.
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