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*NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Any person’s name, herein mentioned, has been made up for the purpose of this short story. Any similarity to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. A street off the strip in Vegas. Sitting, downing a triple shot of speed rack bourbon. Jukebox, a relic, spewing out U2’s “I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For.” I hadn’t. I haven’t. I thought I had, but I didn’t. More experiences than most would ever have. More opportunities. More chances. More. And yet: barren, aching, breaking, tearless and lost. Sitting, boozing, losing, intellectually snoozing, but coming by it honestly. She was gone. Lost to me. Gone to time. Gone to wine. Gone. A moment of love, a moment of loss. Such are the moments of our lives; veni, vidi, vici. I came; I saw; I conquered. Or so I thought. Time can be a friend, or an enemy. My glass was emptying. Music changing. Me, drifting. Sifting my thoughts, from the randomness of my brain’s thinking, as the tunes cranked and pulled me deeper within. Memories of what was. The good was missed. The bad was converted to good. The ugly was seen as okay.  Write a comment
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