The bag was taken out of the box and promptly christened. The box tossed aside, forgotten, unneeded. Used, hit, and passed. They all took a turn as it travelled the circle. Resounding smacks echoed around the room. Hardly interrupting the loud, drunken remarks of those gathered.The ice in my glass annoyed my lips. Sips and gulps depending on the mood. The amber liquid classier than those twisting the bag around and around.Quiet in the corner, amused by the alcohol fueled antics in front of me. Time, my eyelids, and the whiskey fights against me.
I finally have relief.