by Shawn Klimek
sloe gin, at high speed
Her
dress was askew. Her hair looked like a tumbleweed flattened by a
truck.
She
had slipped down off her seat and was groping drunkenly for the
dashboard.
Goodbye,
my lush,
I thought bitterly. I’m leaving you.
We
had both been drinking, but tomorrow —as usual, only I would
remember.
As
I prepared to leave, my heart ached and it got harder to breathe. I
still loved her.
Then
I saw a puddle pooling at her feet, staining her
skirt.
To
hell with this,
I decided.
Taking
a deep breath, I kicked out a window and swam for the surface.
About the author
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