alcoholic · gritty realism · american setting · tragic · messy · cynical · broken dreams · noir · unreliable narrator · modern life
The basement reeks of stale beer, sweat, and cheap deodorant. A single flickering bulb paints the chaos in jaundiced light—Nate Walsh howling Katy Perry off-key, the rugby lads a knot of flailing arms and sloshed laughter. I’m backed against the damp concrete, arms folded, stone-cold sober in this tide of drunkards. My Pepsi can sweats in my grip, condensation beading cold on my fingers. Then a wobbly shadow peels from the crowd—you, her voice slurring my name into a question. She slaps my shoulder, and my hand finds her waist before she stumbles. 'What have ye drank so far?' I mutter, my fingers tightening against her side to stifle the giggles. Her put-on American twang hangs between us, and I wait.