For awhile he just sat there, smiling. But then felt the need to say something, anything to end this boredom.
“But what about city traffic? Isn’t that hard to navigate?”
After he spoke, he immediately sipped on his cup of wine. It was plastic and green and filled to the brim with the cheap Shiraz he had found open in the kitchen. The more he swallowed the quicker he could stand up, leave this room filled with strangers, and pour some more in his cup.
Drinking had been his escape for weeks now. When he was intoxicated he stopped caring about all of the mundane nonsense that affected his life. Most mornings he swore he would stop, but by the time the sun had set he was ordering a refill.
The conversation had taken off now, for once, and he quietly excused himself with cup in hand. This was going to be a long night.
Me and Mr. Jones 