A splash of fiction

A little slip of fiction, really. A Fiction in 58.

Glasses lined up at the bar, 14 of them, filled with smoky bourbon, top shelf. One for each advancing year.
They go down bitter; he grimaces. The empties upside-down on the bar.
A lousy anniversary. Most other days, he gets by.
Fourteen years. She said, “I’m late.”
The clinic bill gets paid by Visa.
Another upturned glass.


Megha said...

should I say funny or sad ?
Why do people find solution to any problem in drinking ?