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The Chronicles of an Alcoholic – Parts 1-7

He wasn’t an alcoholic in the orthodox meaning of the word, he would spend weeks without having even a sip, but whenever he felt like a drink, he had it all… He liked the taste of the alcohol, the aftertaste and most of all he liked the aftereffects, he liked the places the “Holy Liquids” took him to.

Part 1

…The half empty bottle of wine, the eternal drink, was in harmony with his hand, they liked each other, as if that hand was created to hold that bottle…

Part 2

…And the 3 stars printed on the bottle of the golden drink have started shining at some point, like three sources of light in the massive fog of smoke…

Part 3

… After one more sip of that transparent mixture of wheat milk and sprite, his “Party Drink”, nothing was transparent to his eyes anymore, he was in trance with the loud music, which was nothing but a noise to him at that point, a noise that raised him up to the seventh sky, he was not present anymore…

Part 4

… In his mind he was humming that old Greek melody that made Alexis, the great Zorba dance on the shores of Greece, he remembered the hundreds of nights from his childhood, he spent watching the men of the family, his father, uncles, relatives dance to many songs, after emptying bottles of that sacred milk, the Milk of Lions, The Raki or the Ouzo, in front of his eyes he saw the picture of his own brother dancing “The Dance of the Drunken”.. he had just emptied his own bottle and was unwillingly dancing his own dance of the drunken, the taste of the anise in the last sip had touched his palate and drew a smile on his face, he was dancing the dance of his life, his audience were the full moon and the stars, the leaves on the trees were playing the music for him…

Part 5

… – Oh anger,- he thought as he was drinking that last bottle of beer,- I wish you could fire as strong as you backfired, then he aggressively raised the bottle, as if he’s drinking the toast of the gods of evil, he emptied what was left in the bottle in one pull, and threw it from the top of the building where he was standing, watching the lights of the city turn off one after the other. He wished each piece of that shattered glass would hit the heart of each person he was angry with at that moment …

Part 6

…A wide smile was drawn on his face. The third bottle of “Finlandia” had just popped.. They were 9 and they were shooting a glass after the other, one of his closest friends was celebrating his birthday and was about to leave the country to start a life in the dream land.. He couldn’t be sadder; personally, but he was flying of happiness for his buddy, he would cry if he wasn’t surrounded with all the people…

Part 7

…And he lost his anger somewhere between memories and love, or under her feet, and once again he held the thing that never told him “no”; his clay glass filled by alcohol…

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