Solitude

In the end, loneliness is a thought he cannot complete.

A whiff of cigarette smoke hangs in the air, unmoving, as though the room were holding its breath. He puts Nina Simone on the stereo, the music crushed and purple, staining the walls. Somewhere between the third and the fourth drink celebration and forgetting start to taste the same - the flavor of old whisky, like a language he is learning to speak.

He flips through the magazines looking for news of himself, but there is none. The world seems impossible to belong in. Advertisements filled with impossible people, news articles filled with impossible acts. He tries to pour himself another drink, but the bottle is empty. Seen through it his hands seems very far away.