The exception that proves the rule. A blog of short writings from Australia and England.
Tuesday, 22 September 2015
Without alcohol in my blood, I'm nothing. An empty shell incapable of loving. It's the only thing that tastes as sweet as her lips. And it's the only thing that makes me feel as sick. If I'm to be without her, I can't be without it. What kind of sadist would ever implore a man to soberly think?