#materialiisms

    It’s a shame, really. Charlie hasn’t slept this comfortably since he was     probably ten or eleven, a hot blanket draped over him in the back of     his mom’s car, gently rolling over the Interstate, street lights filtering      in orangely past his eyelids. 

    Sitting up, his sweat dampening the stranger’s pillow, Charlie rolls his     neck. It cracks, sounding like an eggshell caving in. Blinking blurrily     up at the woman in the doorway, he smiles apologetically. 

‘How you gonna fuckin’ shoot a man if you’re drunk again, huh? You got a problem.’

Vulnerable Situations Sentence Starter.

     A Russian who can’t hold an obscene amount of vodka? Pathetic. His head is swimming with the stuff; so much so that he has to brace himself on a nearby wall to ward off the nausea creeping up from his gut. 

     “No.” His tongue is heavy within the pungent confines of his mouth. “I am fine.”

“This party sucks, don’t you think so?” Sam sighs, sipping his whiskey.

        ❝ You know that I’M paying, right?             Just      knock    yourself      out. ❞