(Author's POV)
The whiskey had been doing its job for most of the evening, keeping the edges blurred, keeping the thoughts at a manageable distance. But somewhere between the restroom and the corridor it had started losing ground, and the thing it had been holding back was surfacing again without permission.
A voice. Her voice. *Do you want something to drink? It might help.*
He pushed through the door to the terrace and let the night air hit him.
He lit a cigarette and stood at the railing. The city spread out below, indifferent and bright. He smoked slowly and let the wind do what the whiskey couldn't - clear his head, or at least give it somewhere to look that wasn't inward.
Two days. Then it was done, and this particular chapter would be closed in every legal and social sense that
