Last Encounter

I went to the bar alone. I wasn’t planning on socializing, but I saw a friend.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

“Good.” I laughed: “What was with the armful of shooters at the store last night?”

“Oh, helps me stay good,” he replied. “If I get a bottle, I drink the whole thing.”

“I see.”

“It was bad for a while, but I’m doing good now. I used to wake up on my day off, slam a bottle, and pass out.”

“Glad you’re doing better,” I said.

He died weeks later. Mixed alcohol and pills. It was an open casket.