The crushed hat slum...

The crushed hat slumps over his brow. Cigarette smolders in forgotten ashtray. He stares ahead, disdainful, another day under his belt. The feeling swells up from his belly, churning, unsettling. It's been two days since he lost her. Struggling with grief, guilt and remorse, he makes his way to the fridge, gets a bottle off the top, another from inside. It's too much to bear. He goes back to his ragged chair and takes a seat. Opens the first bottle, the second, pours the contents of one into the other, it fizzles. He drinks it, he waits, his final relief.