And so the truth surfaces as I sit here in an abandoned parking lot. How has my life even come to this? The familiar burn and sour bitterness of hard liquor in my stomach.
Cigarettes singe and pollute my throat leaving it like sandpaper. I thought that I was all alone but you saw and now you know. I think my brain is too clouded from the alcohol to care.
My head feels like its floating. You probably thought I was the model person but my nasty secret is I need poison to feel alive.
But for some reason you come closer and set a caring hand on my shoulder. In a silent confession you pull out your own half smoked cigarette and ask for a light.
Then you help yourself to a shot. I guess our secrets were the same.