After this bottle, my drinking will dramatically reduce.
A pint or more of bourbon per night can’t be too good. She is gone and there is nothing I can do about it, life is full of trials and beauty and that is the way it is supposed to be, and I pretty much haven’t stopped drinking in this way since Bean was killed.
I’m better than this.
I owe it to her, I owe it to the people that somehow are foolish enough to care about me.
I owe it, most importantly, to myself – and though the deathwish of youth was only achieved enough to make me regret, it follows me no longer. I live my life, I learn – and I love. Gods, how I love.
I will drink less.