He paced up and down the aisle of enigma. Seated on the shelves were the usual Heineken, Baron’s, Barcadi, Tiger, and Somersby beverages, and the cheap imitation vodka that promises the consumer perpetual contrition and bitterness.
Customarily, he would have chosen the Heineken Lager Beer—the go-to for the contemporary generation. But tonight was different. He wanted something that would slightly intoxicate him at the beginning and knock at least half his senses off by the time he finishes it. Convoluted, he consulted Beer Advocate for user reviews of Knock Out Beer, Baron’s Strong Brew, and some others.
Discerning that he was wasting precious minutes, he settled on Baron’s, checked out, and left with his friend to scavenge for a bench. With his right index, he levered the pull tab of the brew. Pop. The frothy foam builds up in soft whispers, telling him that at least for tonight, it will be fine. With Johnnie Walker already churning his innards, he chugged a mouthful of beer. Crap, he thought. But this will do for tonight.
The breeze that came every now and then further amplified his compulsion to destroy his body through tobacco. Sick. Though that night, he would leave the detesting for the day he greets sobriety… And soon, he yielded to vice.
Why was he so intent on smashing his insubstantial soul when he would abhor his foolish acts a little ways down the road? Possibly to feel alive. Or perhaps, and even more likely so, so that he can learn from his misjudgements. Once bitten, twice shy, and the third time—this time—would conceivably galvanise him into moving on.
From all of the worldliness he presumes he possesses, he does recognise that life is rather volatile. And at any turns or crossroads of being, he may well be cast to dilapidation once more.
