You're not a good person

He couldn’t remember what the fight was about, or whether they’d had one at all. Every day had seemed exactly the same for the past couple of weeks and it was draining the life from him. Right now, he just sailed through the arguments on autopilot. He let himself be absorbed by the unjustified anger and took all his frustrations out on her, waiting until he could escape from the prison that was his own home and get down to the city to find relief in a bottle. He fought hangovers with more liquor, fought loneliness with people that meant nothing to him. At the end of the night, he would be alone with his glass of rum that once again would fail to comfort him. He’d stumble on home to her and everything would start over once he woke up.

He failed to break the cycle again as he downed his fourth drink of the night. He’d tried to keep it at beer this time, in the hopes he wouldn’t lose himself as bad as before, but dropping bad habits was hard and he could already feel himself craving for more. So, he decided to be generous. He tapped his empty glass on the table a few times, drawing the attention of every person in the tavern. “Next round’s on me, for every unfortunate soul that has to spend his days on this shithole of an island,” he exclaimed, earning him some loud cheers from the crowd. “One extra if you’re planning to visit our lovely ladies in the brothels tonight.” Something he might wanted to follow up on himself, if he’d even make it that far into the night.

[Open]