It was one of those nights. The drinks kept on coming. The music was blasting. The company was even more and more accommodating. Hard shots kept coming at the table at the same pace as the cards being thrown all over it. The night is young, as always, and so were they.
She was at her own world. As the insistent buzz of alcohol consumes her, she was even more lovely and at ease. With all the problems in the world forgotten, she controlled and directed her life. This is what she's always wanted - to be finally free, even just for a tiny second. It's funny how people connotes people who drink negatively. On the contrary, she wouldn't even be familiar with Bacardi, Jager, and her all time favorite, beer, if she weren't depressed. As time goes by, she smokes her pack full of cigarettes. Others seem to think her life is easy. She smirks at the thought and goes through with the flow. As shots go on and on, her problems temporarily settles themselves on the tiniest and furthest ends of her mind. And yet, even without being sober, a tiny little voice tells her she will never ever be free.
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