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Sure Shot
The lights are still broken and as always, I have a hard time finding my keys. As I push open the heavy door, the smell of alcohol rushes out.
Walking down the small, tight corridor, I can hear my money vanishing through the television. In front of it, there lies sleeping pounds of flesh which people call, my wife. I walk pass it to get to the only room. The room isn’t any better, either.
Empty bottles of cheap-liquor, makeups for her so-called clients, ashtray full of lipstick-marked cigarette butts. Through the open door, dread colors, vile scents and creepy tastes pour out to the living room. My stare follows them out.
Fly ridden sink, weeks old laundry, stock piled bills. I’ll let her sleep for now.
There is no tomorrow. The same old day repeats again. Still wearing my boots and coat, I lit a cigarette. Through the thick haze, I can see the end of today. As the smoke grows thinner, tomorrow comes.
Irritated, I lit another one.
