Until the fall of 2009,
it hadn't been his habit to drink Modelo.
But that's what she used to drink,
and even though it'd been well over a year by then,
it still hurt like hell to remember her.
It hurt a whole lot less when he was drunk,
though,
which is why he'd been drunk for well over a year by then.
So when on the morning of Tuesday,
September 29,
he walked into Little Daisy Liquors to find a bottle of something special to spend the rest of his day with,
and a can of Modelo caught his eye,
he swore right then and there that until the memories and pain went away,
he would only do his hurting for her,
and his remembering of her,
while drunk off his mind on Modelo.
…
Fast forward one year,
four months,
and nineteen days,
and his neighbor Jim finds him in the bathtub not two hours dead,
directed into whatever's next by more than enough bottles of paroxetine,
bupropion,
lithium,
amlodipine,
and NSAIDs to kill a pack mule twice,
with or without the twenty-four cans of Modelo.
…