His eyes were blood-shot and dull his hair unwashed two days worth of ****** hair framed his jaw, in his hand was a half empty bottle of whiskey
the wind howled through the pine trees outside his dusty window, barely blocking out the noise of the highway
he looked at the overflowing trash can wrinkling his nose distastefully at the smell and then at the empty bed
closing his eyes, he raised the bottle of whiskey to his lips and savoured the fire that blossomed in his stomach. He rose on shaky knees and walked over to the bed, falling back and stared vacant-eyed at the patterns in the cracks of the white plaster ceiling.