Flash fiction. 

Sometimes, you just come up with story idea snippets and you need to write them. 
The cold crisp night, walking home alone in the fog, the icy air burning his uncovered fingers. As soon his alcohol soaked bloodstream touched the cold air, he could feel his head begin to spin. Disoriented, he takes a wrong in the streets lined with houses and cars that all look the same. The steam coming out of his mouth in the evening air, alternating from the smoke he exhales after every drag of his cigarette he takes from his trembling hand. The light of the full moon alternates with the street lamps – darkness is present in the distance but his path illuminated as he stumbles closer home. He listens to the incoherent conversations of people who walk by, the air soaked with a distinct smell of alcohol as he passes by the local, a crowd of people still drinking on into the night. Fumbling for his keys in his bag, he double steps trying to regain his balance in order to search effectively in the moonlight. Attempting to open the door several times, he then tries his key the opposite way. Success. He is in. Walking up the stairs, the banisters take his weight as he sways from side to side. Flailing onto his bed in the darkness, head spinning, he was back. He did it. Survived another weekend.  



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