Standing in the middle of the empty parking lot suddenly became very confusing. The angles began to blur and the lines became like wave patterns to him. There in the center was a metal trash can with vertical lines in gray. The cross-section of slanted lines from the walkway seemed to be rhythmically moving the trash can like a sailboat on a rough sea. His stomach violently reacted to all the stimuli.
Alcohol had a centrifugal pull to him. The magnetism of the addiction that lay at his core was too impossible to resist. Despite the empirical evidence that he was experiencing. The previous night had been no exception. Actually, it was the worse case of his drinking career. He had fourteen screwdrivers within a very short period of time. In his peripheral vision, he saw purple beings dancing the foxtrot to the music of the tango. Everything blurred and he fell to the ground.
That next day, he awakened in a soft bed with a friendly man standing next to him. The man said, “Hi! I John. I’m a recovering alcoholic.”
“Hi, John”, he remembered to say embarrassedly.
© Carol Campbell
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