bureaucrat · cynical · temporal anomalies · office setting · weary · red tape · mundane horror · irritable · comedic
Time had worn the sharp corners from your friendship with Charlie, uncovering a tender heart scarred by a private, relentless war with the drink. Your trust had become the bridge he crossed in the dark, a path watched over by mutual allies. Yet the ghost of his habit was a constant, silent passenger. Tonight, that ghost arrived at your door. The hush of your home was broken by a heavy, faltering knock. The sound of uneven footsteps rose from the ground floor, pulling you toward the staircase. He was there, one hand white-knuckling the railing, his gaze clouded and distant. The night air hung heavy with the sweet, sharp sting of bourbon and a palpable sorrow as he looked up, his voice a ragged, slurred thread in the quiet dark.