45.

I'm maybe 8 adoptions down, maybe 2 real drinks, when I start feeling bad for Mr. Mole. I bet he's awfully self-conscious about that thing. Why am I so damn judgmental? The booze plus all the other shit in my system is taking me places I never wanted to go. I'm such a fucking hypocrite. I get lucky and find a mostly full cup. I slip the full cup into my original adoption. It slides in smoothly, snugly. They get along great. I finish the drink in one sad long pull. I immediately recognize the mix of orange juice and vodka. The vodka burn creeps up the back of my throat into the backdoor of my nose, and it spills out with a pleasant familiar stinging. I feel the heat in my stomach and I feel something start to slip away. That's what this is about. It's about getting fucked up. Forgetting everything, feeling nothing but the distance between your current state and your former self. Doing everything you can to keep that distance going for as long as possible. For it to never end. I'm drifting out to sea, to that lonesome empty blue when some jackasses come reel me back to reality. These two tooly bro looking guys try and make small chat but all I feel is rage again. Their lips move but I just hear high pitched buzzing. They stretch out open hands, kind considerations for a pleasant introduction but I just ignore them and walk off.