Walter sat motionless in the car. It sat parked in the dark garage. Only a long, narrow slit of light showed at the base of the closed door behind him. The vinyl seats sounded like pages tearing when he moved his legs around at peddles. The bottle sloshed a bit at his waist where his son’s head had laid hours before. He stroked the neck of the bottle with his thumb down from its rim down toward the flared base before he raised it and drank from it again. His face winced only slightly as it retreated back to its crusted, cadaverous form. The car reeked of Walter’s guilt. His heart crushed his chest with each beat. He drank again.
The air filled only with his own breathing and the sounding roll of the engine. ‘Glug, Glug, Glug, Glug, Glug, Glug.” The methodical beating of the mechanical heart beat more keenly than his own. For a moment, he was jealous. His foot stomped at the gas in reflexive anger. The engine roared out, screaming out on his command. He swigged from the bottle more aggressively, his anger forcing more fluid from the bottle. The sting of it now numbed. He reached for the door handle and gave it a yank then a push as it released. The door swung open and bounced against its spring. Walter’s feet landed heavily against the floor of the garage. He sat there a moment before positioning himself onto his feet. He walked to the garage door and fell to his ass, managing to not smash the bottle on his way down. He swigged again and positioned himself against the door so that he could see as the air clouded through - his head heavy.
He thought, “I hate grilling.”
