Out of Area

A bruise marks the spot where the beer bottle struck him, unintentionally. His three buddies laugh harder than the incident deserves, in that way only fourteen year olds are supposed to laugh when they're still fourteen and naive. He smiles, knowing things they'll never know.

He doesn't even know why he hangs out with them anymore.

"Another one on the house?" inquires the bartender, good-naturedly. He grins through the scar which cuts both the top and bottom of his mouth, and pours a double shot of scotch into a tumbler.

Slide. Catch.

He grips the glass like his future, forcibly, and doesn't know where to pour it.

"Why do we drink boys?"

CHORUS:
We drink for the fun.
We drink for the sex.
We drink for the love.
We drink to forget.

He slams the tumbler back, irrespective of the contents pouring down his cheek and chin. He wipes too vaguely, gratuitously, and sets the glass back on the counter. Pulling a book of translated Cicero from his pocket, he stands to leave.

Page 23: As the old proverb says, "Like readily consorts with like."

Page 43: Freedom is a possession of inestimable value.

Page 54: It is a great thing to know our vices.