The choices he made, some good, some bad, some too ugly to tell.
Art would drink ten whiskey without a flinch and another five without a blink. He’d tell you stories that would almost make you believe that he lived more than just one life. Like three.
Every next day when the sun arises, a certain emptiness strikes Art, like the hammer hits of his hangover. The minefield of bad choices are catching up with him as he solitarily lives in his empire of disarray.
A repetitive time lapse that keeps on bouncing back like a boomerang.
A high, a low.
In the end nothing but the tale of yesterday remains.