I’ve had the first sentence for a while, and this is what came of it. I’ll revise it a million times, undoubtedly.

“Alcohol made her feel young again. It made her forget the kids at home and the years stacked behind her. She lived only in the moment, the dingy, smoky moment. It was late and she was wired, laughter passing through her painted lips, hands dancing on the trousers next to her. She hadn’t been beautiful in a long time, but she was beautiful then.

She ordered another drink, oblivious to her slur or smudged eye make up. It didn’t matter. She was popular, the men flocked around her, ogled her in her dress, craved her. She had left home seeking substance, but this was good enough for her. She was a prize to be won, and that was how she liked it.

She took another drag on her cigarette and slung her sequined purse over her shoulder. She looked at the men at the bar and pulled one with her. His face was red, his shirt wrinkled. His odor caused her to hesitate, but his eyes reminded her of a love she once knew, long before she knew what drunkenness felt like. Yes, she liked him, because he brought her back to her youth.

The car matched the man, rusted over and dank. It didn’t matter, she needed love and outward appearances wouldn’t ruin her momentary bliss, they hadn’t before. He called her “baby” and it made her warm, like lying in the sun at the beach. She laughed, fading in and out, bending backwards and forwards. In a moment it was over and she was trying to orient herself in the cold night.

She started the walk home, ageing again with each meeting of heel and concrete. She stumbled up the walk and used the spare key. Once she was in the house, her reality was back again and she needed a drink. She dropped her purse and went to the freezer, yanking the door open and reaching for the Absolute. She drank it from the bottle and shut the door, momentarily glancing at the crayoned family portrait, adorned with a gold star.

She took another swig.”