His head was pounding, a familiar Saturday morning pain. After three tries the green light on the hotel door flashed and he walked into the room, a room he was sharing with five of his fraternity brothers. The sound of clapping and cheering made his head worse and aroused his curiosity.
“In and out huh?”
Silent, trying to comprehend the jeers from his brothers, he saw it, the sign of sweet relief. An unfinished bottle of Jack Daniels stood tall on the desk. He made a fast approach as if the bottle was getting away. He put the bottle to his lips, chugging, not letting up until the room fell silent.
He did not awake to the warm embrace of last night’s temptation. He awoke to the hard sole of a subway security guard’s boot and the caress of a cardboard box that smelled of rotting compost.
My response to Alastair’s Photo Fiction