Observations from the Balcony

“Wraaaaammmm,” a voice called out. Fortunately, I speak alcoholic and opened the door.

The office must have once been a janitor’s closet. In fact, there was still a small, brown-stained sink set into one wall which held the residue of vomitus. A rickety student desk covered with scraps of paper and McDonald’s Styrofoam fossils took up most of the floor space, empty bottles of cheap gin the rest. A single spare bulb – 25 watt, tops – didn’t do much to supplement the yellowy light that filtered through the tiny window set high into the back wall. The room smelled of alcohol and sweat and extreme moral decay.

But then, so did my father.

–From Brown Harvest by Jay Russell