Saint Newport, Long
by Cole Shuherk

You were itching before and you are scratching now. Muggsy scratches and cries at you. She has been crying. She needs a walk for her sanity and you need a walk for what remains of yours. You need to exercise and get out of the house, now just the room where the empty bottles stare at you and judge you and frighten you. White twist-on hats, warning labels unheeded. Their contents tethered you to propriety and dignity. You made the bottles empty and made their insides yours, and pissed their souls away. Their contents kept you stupid and happy in the room until they got empty and left you itching.