I stared into my bourbon. I tried to find patterns in the ice and liquor. It was my version of finding shapes in clouds. A grown-up version of staring at the sky.

While I was staring at my drink my soon-to-be ex-girlfriend was ranting on about how she felt distant from me. I “wouldn’t let her in.” Whatever the fuck that means.

I took a drink and told her, “I’m a question mark, a walking talking question mark. But what is the question again?”

“Are you even listening to me?” she pleaded.

“No baby. I’m drinking now.”