Earlier, Howard bought two 40oz bottles of Steel Reserve High Gravity Malt Liqour, and now he’s looking at them. He’s glad he’s alone in his bedroom with two brown paper bags with glass bottles inside of them. He’s glad that when he touches the bare glass his fingertips feel it is cold. He thinks of going downstairs and putting them in the freezer to make them even colder. He opens the first bottle of malt liqour. He looks out the window. He sits on his bed with his legs straight out and his back against the wall. His shirt is off. It’s 3:30 PM. The sun is out. He sees people in the house across the street. He knows who they are. He is sorry they have problems. He wants to help them but understands he can’t, because he has a lot of fucking problems too.
Howard starts to drink Steel Reserve High Gravity Malt Liqour. He gets angry. He is listening to KoRn. He thinks of calling someone, and then he thinks of throwing his phone out the window, or maybe just breaking it, or maybe just I don’t know, I don’t know how I could somehow make this not-yet-drunken guy I don’t know not call her while not breaking his phone, I’m not sure how I can do this. He punches a wall. He thinks of what he fucking loves. He drinks more and more Steel Reserve High Gravity Malt Liqour until there is only one bottle left and then he looks at it and thinks of what he fucking loves. Howard finishes his the second forty, then sleeps.