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Weekly Contest #124
The brown beer bottle reflected eyebags that sank down to Alice’s cheekbones. Wrinkles branched out almost determined to reach her hairline. Maybe the convex curvature exaggerated her features, or maybe it better showed what the average mirror couldn’t – an overworked, fifty-year-old accountant. All tinted in the shade of shit. Alice swayed on her stool to the song that played through the speaker. She couldn’t make out the words, but she liked the strum of the guitar. She always had. She even learned to play it when she was a child, but she...
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