Set Me Alight Read Free

cramped little tent kept me at night. There was no one for me to be snarky to, no one to steal any warmth from, and nothing to keep me motivated to continue to exist. There was nothing to stop me from meeting my end at the bottom of a bottle.
    After that, I was a complete mess. Jon helped keep me straight. He even had me saving some of my wages. Not in a bank or anything. There's no way I could afford the minimum deposit to open a bank account and all of the subsequent fees. It was all stored in a small metal box buried under our tent. We had cut out a hole in the bottom of the tent floor for easy access, and always had it covered in blankets so any one snooping around wouldn't see it right away. Now the only thing my money was good for was a couple glasses of cheap liquor or beer to numb my senses. That's another good thing about Montana. There was a lot of cheap alcohol there. What meager savings I had were dwindling fast. As it got warmer, more and more workers arrived in town, meaning there was less consistent work for me, and less money for alcohol. I can’t think of a worse punishment for my life’s sins.
    I had to go somewhere to take my mind off of Jon. The place I went to was called “The Sink Hole”, my go to bar. The lights there were dim, no one was ever there to bother you, and as long as you kept paying, they kept serving. The grog they tried to pass off as beer there wasn't much to look forward to unless you were a raging alcoholic looking for a fix. Perfect. It was brownish in color, minimal carbonation if there was any at all, an aroma of wet garbage left out in the summer, and a strong solvent flavor to let you know you were doing some real damage to your liver. I hit my limit quick that night. Doesn't take too long when you forgo eating anything during the day. Well, I guess I swallowed some tooth paste that morning. A better breakfast than most days.
    New faces aren't common in The Sink Hole. Lately though, this old man had been coming in. He would sit on the opposite end of the bar from me, nursing a single beer for hours, and occasionally he'd shoot me a glance. I did my best to send him a scowl in return, but more often than not I just ended up slobbering all over myself in the attempt. During one of the rare chats I'd have with the bartender, I mentioned I originally came here to learn to fight forest fires, and saw the old man perk up a little bit. I think that may have been the first day I saw him in here.
    My stomach lurched. I wasn't able to hold the grog down any longer. It all gushed back up. The harsh mix of stomach acid and whatever caustic shit was in the beer seared the back of my throat and my nostrils. At least I made it outside of the bar that time. The owner said if I vomited inside without making it to the bathroom one more time I'm banned from the establishment. Not sure what I'd do without the reliable Sink Hole. I'd probably just buy myself a bottle of something more reminiscent of rubbing alcohol than actual liquor, curl up on a park bench, and hope that by the time I saw the bottom of the bottle I'd still have my senses to get myself back home before I freeze to death. Then I'd wake up the next morning blind from the wood alcohol.
    “You doing alright there kid?”
    I turned around and saw that old man from inside standing near the alley entrance to the bar. I think this is the first time I'd ever heard him speak.
    “Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry about me, gramps. Just go back inside and mind your own business.” I tried my best to look as dignified as possible with snot and vomit dripping from my nose.
    “Listen kid, I noticed you in the bar a few days ago, I figured you could use some help.”
    “Stop calling me kid. I'm twenty five God damned years old and I don't need no drunk geezer looking out for me.”
    “You sure don't seem to have the wits of a twenty five year old. All I ever see you do is drink until you can't even stand and then vomit all over