Houston woke up early. Yawning. A cigarette away from just packing his meager possessions and leaving everything this dusty room did not have to offer. A spark of zippo flame had his lungs drowning in chemical filth. Sometimes it felt good to get *****. Often enough now that he had forgotten what it felt like to be clean. The yellowed pages of his favorite books stared back at him in a mismanaged pile on his writing desk. What few thoughts he had managed to scripple out kept them company on crumpled napkins and ink stained pages.The sheets a sweaty twist around his pale form. He knew something had to give or he really was going to go over to Silvia's to just "talk" but do what he had been thinking about more often of late and  drown her in the kitchen  sink sloshing over with ***** dish water she never drained. Gods but that woman drove him crazy. The clanging of glass every time he took a step a testament to those emotions. All he could do to cope with the damage she had wrought was lose himself in a bottle. Any bottle would suffice but his favorite was spiced ***. It used to burn going down but they had gotten so used to each other it was like old people having *** with the added bonus of actually reaching fulfillment.  The company he had kept last night lay sadly on it's side next to his worn mattress. It's cap somewhere in the wreckage of Houston's hundred dollar a month room. He looked down at it and sighed, picking up the neck and now stale sips left in the bottom. He knew that this one swallow would only stoke the flames of his desire for more yet he could not help himself. Autopilot had taken control weeks ago. The glass on his lips was comforting but the not enough taste left on his tongue was sour. Today. Cracking of his spine echoed as he stretched. Today he was going to get revenge.