Disquiet Teen

The teen didn't care.  He was always up for one more round, regardless the circumstances.  Night before work, let's drink.  Morning before work, let's drink.  Lunch time at work, let's drink.  Thomas consistently gave his action to the kid's thoughts.

So the bar had thinned out.  The dart game was over.  His beer-butt girlfriend was gone.  He called her and she answered.  She told him not to call anymore, and then she hung up.

But she shouldn't be mad, reasoned the teen.  She ruined perfectly good beer by filtering it through her junk and jeans.  No one would want to drink it now.

The bartender set one more beer down. Tom scooped it without paying and quickly walked into the dark night.  The lone light in the parking lot illuminated sheets of rain coming down in columns.  It was perpetual and consistent.  He willed the drops not to fall on him as he approached his car, but it may not have worked.  Once inside, heater a blazing, he set off to drive home in the rain.

"More wet on the inside than the out," the teen said.  He laughed and it clouded Tom's mind like the condensation inside the windshield, wet inside and out.

The lights of the bar scanned over the car as it moved out of the parking spot.  Neon lights excited Tom's mind; he took a swig from the beer he smuggled out, jammed it back into his jacket, and then pulled the car clumsily into the roadway.  The traffic was light, but everything seemed too dark.  He wiped his hands on the front windshield, but it was still too dim.





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