midnight blues: a short story

late night again

he was drinking brandy after brandy as he sat at his countertop slumped over. he had just finalized his separation from pattie boyd. george groaned to himself while he banged his closed fist against the black marbled table,

"what have i done?" he groaned, trying to stand up. that was proven unsuccessful because he tripped and fell, landing face first.

it didn't hurt him at this point. all he felt was numb as he once thought back to all the boisterous fun he once shared with pattie. it hadn't been worth it. all the women he slept with, all the music, anything. he lost the best damn thing to ever happen to him because he was greedy.

he picked up his unfinished bottle and chugged it down like it was water as he smashed the bottle on the floor. he trudged to his feet as he slumped upstairs to his messy bed, that he couldn't be bothered to make for the last 3 weeks.

george rolled in bed and thought about dialing up patties number, but what would be the use? she was happier with eric. he wanted to scream, to curse, to cry! how could he have been this foolish?! he wanted his bride back, his wife back. but she was far gone and he knew that.

george sat up in bed, wrestling with some thoughts of what to do next. he settled on calling me, his best friend.