0.5-The Asylum Interviews: Bronx: An Asylum Tales Short Story - Plot & Excerpts
It was the only thought that I could squeeze through my brain past the hammering of my pulse against my temples. Let me die. Let me die. Let me die. It was four in the afternoon and all the lights in the tattoo parlor were still off. I should have opened the shop already, but I could hardly open my eyes, and just the idea of hearing the buzz of the tattooing machine made my headache worse. No more dark elf whiskey for me. The stuff was like liquid ambrosia going down, but I had yet to drink it without suffering a miserable hangover the next day. Pulling off the plastic lid to my take-out coffee, I poured in the herbs I had ground together. I swirled it around in the black liquid for a second before taking a scalding gulp. This was my second coffee of the day. Shortly after two, I slunk out of the apartment and down the street to a nearby coffeehouse/bookshop, where I purchased a large black coffee. I sat in a dark corner of the shop and drank the first one while watching the pavement get pounded by a spring shower that had blanketed the sky in nice, thick clouds.
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