Russ
I'm halfway down a bottle of Jack, but it's not enough to drown out the f****d up thoughts bouncing around in my head. I'm tempted to just leave and never come back. Never speak a word to anyone again, just disappear. I cause trouble wherever I go. I'm toxic. I ruin everything.
I throw back another shot and almost instantly, I feel it watering down the pain. I motion for the bartender to pour me one more, even though I know I don't need it.
He reluctantly refills my glass. "You got a ride home, son?" he asks.
"Yeah," I answer staring down at my glass.
I wonder if anyone even cares that I'm gone. They probably don't. No one's called to check on me. No one's come looking for me. If they did, they wouldn't have much trouble finding me. This is my go-to spot when I want to
