100 Words a Day 289

He slammed the shot glass down on the bar. The force, made his sodden body sway slightly on the stool.

His heart had been obliterated that night, and now he was getting obliterated. A moment of lucidity managed to pierce his deepening drunken haze and he heard The Eagles on the jukebox:

“Woah, and it’s a hollow feelin’" "When it comes down to bein’ friends”
The small part of him that wasn’t whiskey-soaked decided The Eagles got it wrong. It was worse than a hollow feeling. He felt nothing. He hadn’t felt anything sober and he wasn’t feeling anything drunk.