No Cognitive Defect XVII

No Cognitive Defect - Part XVII

By James M. O'Meara, © 2012

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Honky-Tonk Jukebox...

Wilson sat in a simple wooden chair. He was more than tired: he was bone-weary, and his eyelids were heavy. His arms were crossed on the table in front of him, ready to serve as a makeshift pillow if he lost the fight to stay awake, and he was very close to dozing off. The ash butcher block table in front of him was pocked with charred cigarette burns and sticky with dried beer that tugged lightly at his sleeves whenever he moved his arms. There was one other chair at the table, unoccupied but taken: a woman's jacket was draped over its back. He'd seen the jacket before, he was sure of it. There were dark stains on the sleeve, and this unsettled him so he turned his attention back to his table. There was a glass of what looked like whiskey in front of him, apparently conjured out of thin air because he was certain it wasn't there a moment ago. But of course, that made no sense, did it? It must have been sitting there all along; he'd just been too tired to notice it.

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