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Ursa849
@ursa849
A man and his vice I step outside, the wind screams at me, like an old lover who won't let go. The cold seeps into my bones, like a well-placed punch. Every step toward that supermarket is a battle, a damn ordeal, but the thought of my whiskey pushes me on. Finally, I get there, the sliding doors open, but then, damn it, they tell me it's gone. My whiskey, that damn whiskey, it's out, like the hopes of a party night. I stand there, staring at the empty shelves, like a man who's lost his last bet. The cold is nothing, the wind neither, not compared to the emptiness I feel inside. I head back, the cold isn't just outside anymore, it's in me, like an unwanted guest, while the world keeps spinning, and I keep walking, without my whiskey
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