His head swam, and his latest booze gorge threatened to expel itself on the tops of his loafers. Again. He felt like he was suspended in a tube of his own, floating in bloody water, senses dulled and darkened by the murky crimson sway. He felt sea sick, floating there in his mind’s eye, bobbing around like a duckling submerged just below the swell, having given up hope and simply allowed itself to be drowned by the drink. He couldn’t look up from the top of those loafers, the landing pad for his next projectile expulsion. He knew they were moving all around him. He felt them, their stares, their unnecessarily hushed conversations, their pity. He lowered his head between his legs, and squeezed his temples with his knees. His breath was shallow, starving him of oxygen, his...
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