sunday shame.

today had a general malaise about it. the sun shimmered off the tips of the trees in the soft morning light of winter. it was warm enough that droplets of water fell intermittently from the buildings and branches, the ground was a slushy mess that even under a layer of grime glistened in the sun. he'd had an uneasy feeling since the night before, obsessively checking his phone as he stumbled through the parking lot. a vague remembrance of some garbage he spouted the night before to someone he loved. it wasn't new really, it was a pattern of shitty that followed him whenever the bottle was around. walking inside hoping for coffee all he could hear were carols and muffled laughter, two sounds that went nothing with how he was feeling. he waited in line, it was long, he didn't care. his pocket vibrated then and he stared solemnly ahead, pretending not to notice. after a bit he got his coffee and sat down, with no phone to distract himself with he was stuck staring ahead. he didn't dare look in his pocket, this was Sunday. just another Sunday, taking a sip too soon he burnt his tongue, another vice biting him, another little metaphor maybe not so subtly telling him it was time to stop.