Drinking Enough

By Kristin Davisson

I wake up hazy, to whispering. So hot, again. Still sweating I sit up, bed creaking, gather my clothes and hairbrush. The room smells of alcohol and sweat. My ears are clogged, my head is fuzzy. I leave the building and step outdoors. I am still tired but the cold air is reassuring: proof that I am alive. I open my mouth and swallow the day. I adjust my scarf. I wear normal pants, a normal shirt, and normal shoes. I am unknown. I am no one to anyone. I almost have enough memories.