It was in her veins.
It was in her body.
It was in her mind.
Running wild,
free.
“Consequences be damned,”
she’d shout over the slowly
tiring bar patrons as she
drank another shot of
whiskey.
The sharpness no longer
affecting her, no funny face
to be made after tossing her
head back and downing that
Irish elixir.
It was Old Hat as they say.
Just something to do to
keep the wolves of
memory at bay and the
vultures of the future
circling overhead a
little longer.
“One more,” she shouted to
her ever drunker companions.
They laughed and slurred
some off-handed comment
about how pretty she was
when she didn’t dribble
whiskey down her chin.
“To us, to me, to we,” she raised
her shot glass high and clinked with
the other intoxicated we.
Another shot down, followed
with a beer.
There were no barriers,
everything seemed possible.
There were no rules, no reasons,
no pressures, no problems, nothing
but the hot stinging whiskey
and the cold beer.
Space and time were only
concepts for others to dwell on.
The here and the now, the moment
was all that mattered, in slurred, blurred
tones of neon and gibberish.
It was a stampede though her veins.
It was a trampling of her body.
It was a bewilderment of her mind.
Stumbling,
trapped.
“One for the road.”
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