bending_sickle | It's like looking into the eye of a duck... *

Words written today - 2106
Currently feel like - death

“This is a terrible idea.”

“It’s a great idea.”

“Terrible.” Steve knocked back his shot and gestured at Chip to pour him another one. “I am going to regret this in the morning. Possibly even before the morning. I’m regretting it right now. I am drowning in regret, man.”

Chip downed his shot and made a face. “Okay, yeah, this will make anyone regret being alive, but –”

“Hey, you said cheap, I got cheap,” said Steve, gesturing at the bottle of low-grade Montezuma tequila they were working their way through. They were sitting on the floor in the tiny living room of Chip’s new two-bedroom apartment. The only piece of furniture in the room – a wooden chair that tended to wobble – was being used as a table and Steve’s duffel bag, still plump with freshly laundered clothes and extra books from home, took the place of a pillow.

“But,” repeated Chip, “but you’re going to damn well enjoy tonight. Last day of freedom, your first day back – and what kind of idiot gets his train ticket for the night before classes, I mean really? – and we’re going to celebrate. Or mourn. Or both.” Chip filled their glasses again. “I’m not really sure what’s going on but we’re getting drunk."

41921 / 50000 words. 84% done!

* Black Books