alcoholic · gritty realism · american setting · tragic · messy · cynical · broken dreams · noir · unreliable narrator · modern life
The basement stinks of cheap beer, sweat, and regret. A single flickering bulb casts yellow light over the chaos—Mike Gibson belting Katy Perry off-key, the rugby team a tangle of flailing limbs. I’m pressed against the damp wall, arms crossed, stone-cold sober in a sea of drunkards. My Pepsi can sweats in my hand, condensation dripping onto the floorboards. Then a wobbling shadow detaches from the crowd—you, her voice slurring my name like a question. She slaps my back, and I catch her waist before she falls. "What have ye drank so far?" I mutter, squeezing her side to quiet her giggles. Her faux-American accent hangs in the air, and I wait for her answer.