Rock Bottom

Fingers shaking, he tapped on the payphone's dial. As the electronic voice told him to try a different number, he slammed the hand set into the cradle of the phone. The beeping again in his ear, he banged his fist into the booth's glass sides, again and again. He couldn't remember his dealer's number. "What a dumb ass," he said of himself.

After a final failed attempt, he violently bashed open the door of the phone booth.

Tears trickled down his cheeks. It was so lonely on the streets.

"Maybe it's a sign," he speculated. "Maybe it's time for sobriety."