I walked into the liquor store down the street, the little bell’s chime announcing my arrival. A table near the register had small bottles of champagne on sale: 3 for $15. So I grabbed three and went to the counter with a $20 in hand.
The clerk scanned the bottles, asking me what the celebration was for. I said that I was celebrating a death. He looked up at me for a moment, with a strange and confused expression, and continued bagging the bottles and counting out the change.
Have a nice weekend.
You too.
Back home, I popped a bottle and watched the little puffs of carbon dioxide escape.
I drank, and celebrated the death of my relationship, my self worth, and of my hopes and dreams.