The Little Pub : 01. The Old Man

– He eyed them with seasoned eyes of a hawk.
Bloodshot and steel, still laced with layers of wisdom.
In his hand, a potent liquid that lit the fires so long dead within him
And with every gulp, he was reminded what it felt like to be forgotten, again.
He lost his leg to war,
His life to the demons he brought home
His wife to the bestfriend that helped her outran them,
And his favourite spot to the rauchy wasted pair of fuckups that were now tongue deep into each others throats.
None of this pained him though.
Not as much as loosing his heart to the bottom of the bottle he held.
It drowned..over and over and over


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