1 way to live

1. There was a pool of alcohol at the bottom of his belly. He’d been sitting drinking for nearly six hours and he didn’t feel any better, or worse. He leaned back into the folding chair, pushed his heels into the brick pavers, and watched the towels on the line as they occasionally swung to the left, and to the right. In one hand he held a stubby cooler made of that nasty white stuff that will kill you if you swallow it. The paint from the logo was rubbing off on his skin. In the other hand he held a remote control for the plastic convertible parked by the shed. The batteries were dead, but he was waiting for something magical to happen.