Untitled - Campbell University

smelled of tobacco and tar since I was seventeen. Jeans, one of four pair I had, were
part of my normal pub attire. My desk job frowned upon casual dress, so whenever I
got the chance to wear comfortable clothing I gracefully took it.
Halley herself eventually entered the pub, making her rounds to the regulars.
I was included in this list, since I had been here every day after my wife’s death in
2004. Lung cancer had claimed her, and I still drew on my cig like it was my life
support. Nicotine is a very powerful drug. Halley stepped up and apologized for the
slack service, and proceeded to fix up my usual, scotch on the rocks. No, I wasn’t
James Bond and shaken or stirred made no difference to me. I just wanted my J&B.
I got my wish and tried to calm myself from the ruckus growing in the corner. My
seat had turned into a dance pad for some overzealous senior. I crushed my cigarette
in the nearest ash tray and downed my scotch. It burned like it had burned everyday
for the past five years. The pain never left, never even weakened its onslaught. My
body was ingratiated as the liquor cursed into a seemingly starved bloodstream. Five
years of constant abuse had driven me to addiction, yet I never considered the possibility
that I was an alcoholic.
Time passed as the antics continued on, for what seemed like days. I had
downed twelve glasses. That much scotch was unusual, but they were driving me
crazy. Halley noticed my agitation and stared apologetically across the bar. She eventually
approached me and informed me that I had had enough. I disagreed, elbows
up on the bar, pouting like a child. I retreated to the relief found in my left shirt
pocket.
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The grey Dodge insignia on my lighter reminded me of brighter days, days