Rob’s phone started ringing relentlessly. Dismayed, didn’t deduce it. He left the house with a bottle of vodka in his jeans pocket, heading for the train station. Regina seemed to leave a hole in his ears and heart like a mad meteorite.
He had no intention of picking up, but the sound bore pretentious bits in the passengers' ears like a precocious Christmas song.
He dropped the bottle on the floor several times, staggering to pick it up. Luckily, it didn't break, but it caught the attention of a few punters.
Ruby was one of them.
About the Creator
Mescaline Brisset
if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
so you want to be a writer? – Charles Bukowski
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