⠀⠀⠀𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗔𝗡 𝗘𝗠𝗣𝗧𝗬 𝗕𝗢𝗧𝗧𝗟𝗘 of bourbon and a typewriter that hasn’t seen a finished sentence in days, he lights another cigarette. He calls it “𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴.” — everyone else calls it a spiral.
⠀⠀𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊—no, too trite—𝚊 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚗, 𝚊 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 . . . 𝙣𝙤, this isn’t 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵. His fingers stretch manically over the typewriter before their inevitable reach for a drink.
⠀⠀ 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘’𝗦 𝗔 𝗚𝗟𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘 over his shoulder toward the teacher’s lounge when he slips a flask back into his coat pocket after discreetly pouring a shot of whiskey into his mug.
( 𝘕𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝙨𝙖𝙬 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 — 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵? )