The Purchase
CW: language, alcoholism Less and less cars zipped past him as Hank approached the edge of campus and made his way down the hill to his favorite liquor shop. He liked this one best, because he never ran into anyone he knew. That and it opened at 10am. He had $32.41 in his bank account – enough for a handle of Seagram’s gin. He brought an empty backpack to carry it back, or whatever was left of it. Today, he wasn’t going to do anything productive. Hank’s Senior year of college felt somewhat miraculous to him. After changing his major three times already and skipping many classes due to hangovers that he renamed as sickness, he was somehow on track to graduate in the spring. Terrifying. The wind blew a little harder on his cheeks, so hard that what was once numbness turned to pain. He was relieved to feel something. He wiped his runny nose on the sleeve of his sweatshirt and stepped onto the crosswalk, his last major landmark before arrival. “Fuck. How is it only 9:41?” He paused at the ...
