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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “I wrote this in the dark” Down in the Dirt, v207 (5/23)  Order the paperback book: 
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A Brick Wall
Bill Tope
The air was so heavy with moisture
that you could almost drink it. I
chose instead to knock back shots
of Southern Comfort. Each shot
burned my throat and so I followed
them with beer chasers.
Through the bar window, I saw that
it was snowing, large flakes the size
of dinner plates. Clutching the bottle,
I exited the tavern in search of a
Christmas adventure. I was loaded,
so what possibly could go wrong?
And when the snow gave way to
rain, I thought little of it. Happy
was I to quaff my libation as
I plodded earnestly through the
expanding puddles of water,
winking up at me as the raindrops
splashed. Night fell around my
shoulders like a dark shroud. My
head was abuzz with fireflies.
Thoroughly drunk now, I careened
down a street unfamiliar to me and
urinated against a brick wall. I
marveled that it felt as good coming
out as it had gone in. Unfortunately,
this wall proved to be attached to
the office of the County Sheriff.
By the time I was released from
lockup, I was distressingly sober.
So, following my usual practice I
journeyed to Wally World, where I
replenished my store of Southern
Comfort—Elixir of the Gods. I was
loose again, in search of another
brick wall, reminding myself that
during the holidays, the timing
was everything.
