Empty

The mirror stared back. The bar counter looked like it was moving. His stool was beginning to feel wobbly. And his glass was empty again. Was it the seventh or the eighth time? He wasn't sure. He looked down into the glass and saw the wood of the counter, somewhat magnified through the bottom.

He looked down into the glass again and sighed. It was still empty. The glass was so empty. But nothing compared to what he felt inside. And no amount of alcohol would ever change that.

He was so empty.