Christian Schmick

swelling, placing it under my palm. I try and clamp my injured hand down on the ice pack and find it unresponsive, so I pull the pack from Laura’s protesting hand. "Where are you going?" Laura asks as I turn away from her walk to the front screen door. "Alcohol," I say, carefully pulling at the little u-shaped handle with my pinky while trying not to drop or butt out my cigarette. "You know she can’t stand the smell of cigarettes in the house," Laura calls after me as walk into the kitchen and lay my smoking stick on the rock countertop. I scoff. To be honest I could care less what Shelia can’t stand at the moment. I walk into the kitchen and grab a near-empty bottle of Fireball. I try to unscrew the top