R&R

He sat in the cold watching his breath. It was dark, which meant it was after 3am. He could feel that winter was right around the corner again. He was picturing himself on the gray beaches. He could hear the waves from his front steps. He didn't deserve such beauty, he thought, so he closed his eyes tightly. He shook his head, trying to erase the images of sunsets and elder fishing camps. His son was sitting on the couch, watching his father's shadow through the front window. It was a behavior his family was familiar with. He lived in a permanent haze, afterall. Today it was at its best though. It was payday, which meant he was able to buy the good stuff. 

Every other Thursday, like today, he drinks R&R. By mid-week he's moved to Listerine. When times get desperate he'll settle for gasoline.

Sure he's an addict. He's also just getting by, coping with his life. The village kids walk past him and mutter. The grandmothers shake their heads, hissing and pointing, intending to scold. The troopers know his first, last, and middle names, but they still show proper respect. His wife remembers a better year, and she loves his children harder because of who their father was. When he sobered up, there was always another apology to make. He felt he was always apologizing. He was ready to do what was best for his family. He wasn't afraid to die. They would be better if he was better, but they'd also be better if he was gone, a hard realization for a father, husband, brother, and son. He stumbled out the front door while the sun was peaking over the horizon.

The local bank had two cameras - one for each door - and is open 6 days a week. The distribution center had eleven cameras and a single door and is only open 2 weeks a month. The bank tellers knew everyone in the village by name, but never knew who they'd see on any given day. At the distribution center, the clerk was waiting. He knew who he would see on the second Friday of every month. He knew everyone in the village that still had enough money to buy another bottle of the good stuff.