by Loobell

The pale gold touches my lips, burning my tongue before it slithers down the back of my throat and makes me gasp. I contemplate more whilst waiting for courage to arrive; I am sure the bottle read “fortified” and I need those battalions now. A nervous eye on the clock, so early, yet where is he for goodness sake? The envelope drops with a gentle flutter; my heart in unison with it as it falls. Then [sigh] another job rejection appears before me. The world looks better through the bottom of a whiskey glass sometimes.


Loobell - harassed middle aged mother, badly lapsed blogger - once showed us the Light at the End of the Tunnel.