Excerpt: FreshStep and Vodka Tonics Smell the Same
He had gone out last night for just a drink. Just one. A quick break from his parent’s bed that used to be his bed and the living room that was permeated with the stench of old kitty litter. Their cat had died four months ago. The box sat in the corner waiting to be used again. Patient little bugger, Bobby thought.
His mother fell asleep on the couch and his father watched C-Span on silent.
So, Bobby had gone to his old stomping ground. The bar felt like a museum. Capturing everything from his decrepit youth he had spent years trying to forget. And here he was. Voluntarily forcing himself back in time.
He had ordered a vodka soda. He only drank scotch now. Scotch, he told himself, was a gentleman’s drink, Scotch, he gulped the vodka, proved he was an adult. That he had survived and landed on his feet.
Tonight, he was drinking vodka. The bartender, Ricky, was still manning the bar.
‘How was your week man?’
Bobby hadn’t been to this bar in seven years.
‘Fine, you know, the usual.’
The drink was strong.
The bar had filled up quickly, mostly occupied by students and adults in denial over their waning youth. It was a place of mourning and sacrifice and the things people do to forget about life for a while.
The calendar on the wall was four years old and had the 4th of July circled. Ricky sometimes roofied underage girls as revenge.
