By Annalie Buscarino.
Some force of nature slows your steps to a halt. There seems to be a pulse in your feet- perhaps they are wondering, as you are, where your destination is. After a few minutes, you realize you’re posted in front of a grand bay window, on a white-paneled house that has been kept up well. The family who calls it home opens presents under the happy watch of their Christmas tree; the little boy wallops in joy as the snowman wrapping falls away from his new train set. They’re unaware of your presence, and for once, you hope it remains that way. The bottle slips in your hand, but you grip it by the neck before it can crash to the ground. The liquor sloshes in it enticingly, as if diverting your attention to your real home.
Photo by Quinn Dombrowski.