Page 69 - The Houseguest

them! Tears rolled down his cheeks as he collapsed his stance to a crouch, his back against the stone-cold bricks. Had seven years in prison taken away his only sure escape from reality? He assured himself that it would only be a matter of building up a tolerance again, which meant more drinking. So, he guzzled down the remaining whiskey from the bottle.
Waking up the next morning on a hard wooden bench about 50 yards behind the store in front of a creek of some sort, he sat up and glanced into the reflection of the running water trying to remember how he got there. He thought about walking down to splash his face with cool creek water, but then again, this was New Jersey, not Colorado. Who knows what was lurking in the water, picturesque as the scene might be. He’d learned the hard way in prison how easily dangerous germs are contracted after his bout with cholera from unwashed utensils.
As he began to slowly recall yesterday’s events, he checked his pockets hoping he hadn’t been robbed during his evening stupor. The remaining cash, after buying the shoes and whiskey, was still there. He stood up shaking his head trying to dismiss the immense hangover he was now painfully aware of, yet realizing with a grin that he hadn’t had one in years. He slowly made his way to the bus stop and rode back to the shelter.
He had conjured up twenty different excuses on the bus ride to explain the wrinkled suit and the evening’s absence, but no one asked. He slipped in the backdoor and went straight to his section where his bed remained untouched. He quickly ruffled the sheets and covers to make the bed appear as if it had been occupied the previous night. Part of him
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The Houseguest by Linda Ellis www.LindaEllis.life