Roger stepped out of the liquor store. The rain was cold and getting colder. Turning right, Roger walked for several blocks. He found a street with crawling cars. He turned left and walked in the same direction as them. Crisscrossed arms held his coat closed. Whiskey sloshed in a bottle in his inside pocket.
The drip of human traffic thickened into steady pressure. Anonymous shoulders thumped into Roger.
“Watch it, old man!”
“Go home, you drunk!”
It was time. Roger found a staircase to someone’s home where the lights were off. He sat on the top step. With the whiskey bottle in his hand, he ran his fingers over the embossed lettering. Even through layers, the concrete bit with chilled teeth.
There was a schedule. Roger took the first swig. His tongue burned like a match – cheap. He took another. Heads turned into faces. Faces turned into accusations.
“… no respect …”
“Fucking homeless taking over.”
Roger pulled from the bottle a third time, and a third was gone. His heart jogged faster. Faces uniformly frowned. He increased to two swigs per drink. There was a schedule.
Setting the empty bottle down in a nook, Roger got up. The alcohol was still queued up, but he held the railing tight. He descended the stairs and turned right. Roger floated with the people. With each step, he lost grip on the sidewalk. Still, he advanced unobstructed.
As he worked his way downstream, the SUVs and convertibles on the side of the road gave way to police cars. Red and yellow t-shirts gave way to blue jackets and ties. The sidewalk had fewer cracks. Roger found what he was looking for: tall, double doors painted two shades of black. He was on time.
Vic looked up when Roger intruded. Roger walked with the exaggerated care of a drunk person. He wobbled up to the desk and pulled his shoulders back.
“I’m sorry,” said Roger. “I did it again.”
“You do it again?” asked Vic.
“Yes. But there were no children around. I kept it out of sight.”
Vic held up a finger and picked up the phone. He dialed a three-digit number and waited for an answer. In hushed words, he summoned Luke to the front. Vic helped Roger sit down on a bench.
“Do you want any water?” asked Vic.
“No, I think I’m full.”
“Okay, wait here a moment.”
Vic stood up as Luke came into the room, carrying a grey blanket. “Did he do it again?”
Vic replied, “Yep, but no children.”
“Good.”
Luke helped Roger to his feet, wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, and guided him to a metal door. Vic pressed a button on the desk. There was a buzz, and the metal door clunked. Luke opened the door and helped Roger through.
“Come on, grandpa, it’s time to rest.”
