Siren

In the distance, a siren calls.

“Life is Good,” he muttered, setting the bottle down on the edge of the counter. It missed, crashing to the floor violently, whiskey splashed everywhere. Though he didn’t seem to notice. Glass in hand he ambled to the window, seventeen floors up.

Leaded feet shuffled through the littered takeout containers. Across the mountain of discarded sauce packets. Over the wall of unwashed laundry.

Inhibitions dissolved in the glass as he braced himself against the window, hot breath diffused the moonlight that pierced his window. Fumbling hands found the door and slid it open.

Cold air warmed his face, his lips pursed for another sip - empty. He tossed the glass at his feet - useless.

His head lifted to the distance - siren's call.