Lonely Bottle

A lonely bottle sits in the sidewalk.

The sidewalk is near to one of the busiest train stations in Lisbon. It’s not as busy as Santa Apolónia but it can get pretty crowded.

Crowds are kind of one of those situations I prefer to avoid. But there are other situations like these.

I am an awkward human being and I don’t like to talk about shit like this to anyone. Sometimes I do, however it happens only so rarely. Usually a bottle is involved. Or a person. Or both.

Everyone knows how alcohol reacts when ingested by the human organism so cut the fuckin’ crap. We have all got demons. And we all (or maybe just some of us) love us the occasional drink or drinks. (I ain’t one to judge.)

The damn bottle is sitting on that sidewalk. I wonder who left it there. I wonder why someone left it there. I wonder why someone felt the need to drink it. (Yeah, I wonder a lot of shit. It’s a wonder my brain still works.)

The train station is empty. No one is sitting inside the train. The fucking station is a ghost town. (Not that I mind.)

No crowds inside the train station. No crowds outside either. And it’s not even late.

I am still looking at the bottle. And then I set my sights on the train station. But I still have no idea who left the fucking bottle here. (It shouldn’t matter, should it?) And yet, it does.

The empty bottle reminds me of you. And who the fuck knows why? I don’t know why. Well, maybe I am lying.

(Damn bottle.)

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