Сияние

Conversations at the Party

           Hegotup,snufingbackbloodandwipinghisnosewiththebackofhishand.HecrossedtotheColoradoLoungeandshovedthroughthebatwingdoors,makingthemflybackandbangintothewalls.

           Theplacewasempty…butthebarwasfullystocked:.Godbepraised!Glassandthesilveredgingonlabelsglowedwarmlyinthedark.

           Once,heremembered,averylongtimeago,hehadbeenangrythattherewasnobackbarmirror.Nowhewasglad.Lookingintoithewouldhaveseenjustanotherdrunkfreshoffthewagon:bloodynose,untuckedshirt,hairrumpled,cheeksstubbly.

           (Thisiswhatit’sliketostickyourwholehandintothenest.)

           Lonelinesssurgedoverhimsuddenlyandcompletely.Hecriedoutwithsuddenwretchednessandhonestlywishedheweredead.Hiswifeandsonwereupstairswiththedoorlockedagainsthim.Theothersbadallleft.Thepartywasover.

           Helurchedforwardagain,reachingthebar.

           "Lloyd,wherethefuckareyou?"hescreamed.

           Therewasnoanswer.Inthiswell-padded

           (cell)

           room,hiswordsdidnotevenechobacktogivetheillusionofcompany.

           "Grady!"

           Noanswer.Onlythebottles,standingstifflyatattention.

           (Rollover.Playdead.Fetch.Playdead.Situp.Playdead.)

           "Nevermind,I’lldoitmyself,goddammit

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Roboto Lora
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