The Drunk's Memoir: A Short Story

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The Drunk’s Catalogue

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Cass wasn’t dapper. Dapper meant suits, ties, those odd square front shoes and colognes that made a man think his eyes were bleeding. Of course he had suits, his PA had insisted that look the part when it was required of him. Bagged they waited in the back of the closet for funerals, because Cass couldn’t see any other time in his life that he’d need to wear something so fancy. After all it wasn’t like he could ride anymore. Apparently brands were important. Versace, Vuitton, Gucci. They all looked the same to Cass, straight laced, functional too perfect. He felt ridiculous, but Tobias Lo had mentioned that people were expecting him to show up, after all the event was for the good of the town and Cass was a local boy. The prodigal son returned.

The spacious nature of the ballroom dwarfed Cass. With a lack of items to prop himself against he had to rely on the cane
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Cass had learnt to appreciate wine during PA related parties. Champagne felt a little too feminine for him, but a Savion, or a Shiraz was fine. Cass procured a wine flute and moved to a less occupied region of the room. From his position he could watch the dancers without making a problem out of himself. He spotted Hazel. She was a blur of cream and gold fabric moving gracefully in the arms of a young man Cass had not met before. Laughter flowed from her, her smile lighting up her face. Cass felt a pang of anxiety. Who the hell was he and how long had Hazel known him. He was good looking too. The bastard! Making a good study of the man’s face Cass promised to find him later just to see what he was dealing with. It was never a good sign when I man made a woman laugh like that. Sure the family could use a little happiness, but relationships were fragile thins and Cass couldn’t stomach the thought of seeing his baby sister cry. Maybe he was getting carried away, but two miserable people were plenty in one
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