As he staggered down the street, he was so alone; He was desolate, with no one to call his own. The corner store about to close, he had to get there fast; Reason left him long ago, his good life in the past.
Bill stumbled on the step, as he walked inside the door; the liquor counter filled the back, of the corner store. Bill was there to buy his nightly bottle of cheap wine, soon he'd be oblivious, and life would then be fine.
Remembering days gone by were more then he could bear, Bill had been successful, with a family in his care. His son was only sixteen; the day he passed away, Bill started drinking alcohol, to ease his pain that day.
The alcohol possessed him, he couldn't put it down, and Bill soon became well known, as the drunk of that small town. He couldn't hold his job and he also lost his wife, He lost all the good things; as alcohol became his life.
Bill left the corner store, brown paper bag in hand, what happened to him next, no one will understand. He went into an alley; he had no place else to go, He silently began to cry, for he had sunk so low.
Next morning in the alley, there gathered a small crowd; everyone was whispering ... no one spoke out loud. Empty bottle on the ground, beside a lifeless heap, the grim reaper paid a visit, as Bill lay there fast asleep.
The lesson from this tragedy will shortly be forgot, big bottles of cheap wine will continue to be bought. Bill's battle has been lost, for him there is no more, still...there will be others, heading for the corner store.
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