8/5/20

alcohol is his comfort. 
he sought solace in the bar scene. 

the beer no longer burned his throat like it did when he was a boy. and as he got older it would soothe his quivering soul. it used to be a deep sigh of relief to calm a racing heart. it used to be like collapsing into his soft bed after a long day of working on his feet.

but now, it is the best thing he knows how to do. he can do it anytime he wants. at the bar. at home. at work. after all, how important is an old cook anyway. he's been denied jobs because of his old age. it is only a matter of time before his diligent wife is the sole bread-winner.

his youngest child of four, a young girl with freshly cut bangs and thick brown hair framing her face, tugs on his arm. the stool is too big for her small body and her feet swing fatuously off of it as they cannot reach the footrest on the bar stool. 

she asks for something but he cannot hear it over the banter of other men sitting at the bar on the other side of her. she repeats her question. she wants to play the arcade games on the other side of the bar.

he slurs some type of answer and raises his hand to the bartender for another beer.

¤¤¤

to my father, i hope one-day sobriety will become a constant for us both.