February 20, 2020
Volume 50 - No. 07
By Pete Peterson
He came to lying in puke and piss on the hardwood floor of his den. It took him a minute to figure out where he was. How he got there, he did not know. His head felt ready to explode. His eyes ached. He shivered in rancid sweat soaked tee shirt. He struggled to his feet, saw his trousers were urine stained, that he wore a shoe on one foot, and nothing on his other foot. His heart banging, he stumbled into the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face and peeked at the unshaved The Paper - 760.747.7119
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stranger in the mirror.
“You were supposed to be dead by now,” he said.
Nausea swept over him. He dropped to his knees, hugging the commode and retched, spewing green bile and blood into the stool. After maybe fifteen minutes, he stood weak and dizzy. He heard footsteps in the hall. He didn’t want his daughters to see him this way as they left for school. He tossed his trousers into the closet and pulled on running shorts. He’d pretend he
was going for a jog. He reached for his bottle to take a swig and stop his hands from shaking. That’s when he noticed the pile of glass in the corner, a broken bottle on top of it.
He staggered to the closet, pulled a fifth of Evan Williams Black Label from the case, twisted off the top and took a long slug. Usually, he’d feel a rush of well-being, a feeling of relief course through his body, blocking his memory and stilling the popcorn thinking that peppered his mind. Now, he felt nothing. No
relief. No feeling of well-being. Nothing.
He heard his girls giggling in their room. His beautiful curly-headed, freckled face, black-eyed daughters. When he heard other voices, he realized, school was out, not just starting. He reached for the doorknob, He’d greet them, tell them how important they are to him, let them know he loved them. His oldest daughter’s voice stopped him. “Let’s go outside. Our talking will disturb Daddy and
Alcohol . . The Legal Drug of Death See Page 2