A droubble by mageorge
My pre-marital days were not free of trouble and strife.
Failed businesses, loneliness and the constant struggle to keep myself sane were all contributing factors to my slight drink problem.
Life in a bed-sitter was cheap. This alone was a contributing factor. I could do what I wanted, when I wanted.
I remember having a few friends around that day. The beer flowed and so did the weed. Merry were we, until they all returned to their own little spaces in the crumby rooming house. I carried on drinking; my own little party.
I was lying on my bed, propped up by three pillows. By then I'd drunk so much that I drifted in and out of a conscious-like state. Nothing mattered to me. All my innermost thoughts were extinguished.
I lit up the remains of a joint that was resting in the ash-tray. I looked forward towards the TV. I had only one thought: What the fuck is this they're showing?
Witches flew around and around on broom-sticks. Dressed in black robes. I thought they were going to fly out of the TV.
I got up to turn off the set, only to find that it wasn't switched on!