BAR STOOL, 3 A.M.

135

He was befuddled.

His head was murky, and his hurky-jerky breath,

left his mouth dry. No amount of silky-smooth whiskey

could numb his razor sharp pain; his brain refused to signal

his extremities, and the remedy made his pulse race.

His lanky stride straddled the marshy puddle.

They found a way to isolate his emotions.

The SUNDAY WHIRL – Wordle #135

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5 thoughts on “BAR STOOL, 3 A.M.

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