Early

The liquor store wouldn’t open for three hours. Up all night, he’d rather stay awake, ride the buzz, wait to allow himself to slip further into disinhibition. When he got home from the bar (last call), he needed another, but the ice box was empty. Poured them out a week ago as a fresh start. So he walked to the liquor store two blocks away, iron gate pulled in front of the glass doors, unlit Open sign taunting him.

Across the street a pair of mariachis, one carrying a violin, the other a bass guitar, rounded the corner and entered a coffee shop. He wondered if they, too, had been up all night, or if they carried any bottles of liquor to spill into the fresh coffee. His eyes refocused on a lamp post in front of the shop. Scrawled across it in charcoal was the phrase “Life is constant extortion.” He sighed and wondered how much time had passed.

No. 149