Monday Eve

The empty rocks glasses had been piling up, in all honesty they’d been there for quite some time. The glass on top was the only one that moved. Just long enough to be rinsed out quickly with a dash of hot water before being filled with another round of ice and Johnny Walker Red. The empty packs of Parliaments were falling out of the already full trash can in the corner of the room next to the line of empty bottles in rows like soldiers prepared to do battle.

It was amusing to watch them pile up. The evidence of a life wasted, of a life hindered. Someday the only evidence left to prove he’d existed would be a pile of empty scotch bottles and cigarette butts. At least they’d tell the truth. At least there wouldn’t be some bored asshole sitting around trying to figure out all the corners and cracks in his life for a misconceived biography.

It wasn’t as if this had been the plan. There was no grand scheme to be shut away indoors away from the world. Who would plan to be surrounded by dirty walls, carpet that smelled like an overused ashtray, and a TV that showed more snow than anything entertaining. The couch had the distinct shape of an ass on one side while the rest seemed as if it was still on the showroom floor waiting to be taken home. In a strange way, this was a summation of this wasted life. One overly used corner while the rest goes to rot and decay.