Lonesome

Trudging through the dark, early hours of the surprisingly empty rainy streets of Sunset strip; Izzy's head hung low. His dark hair wet and matted against his bandana. Dried tears on his face, nose, red from all the substance abuse it managed to take in, plastered with powdery cocaine.His fingers slightly shaking from the high he's still experiencing; as well as the fact he's running sick and nearly frozen like a Popsicle.

The faint sound of music can be heard from the ratty apartments above, as he prowls on the what seems to be an endless street. The shouts and yells of intoxicated teenagers mixing into the recorded voice of Madonna, as she auto tunes her way into their shitty, overcrowded party. Izzy's mind blank- empty.
"Where is everybody?"
His mind ponders that single thought. His veiny, bloodshot eyes can barley stay open. Izzy's lips were chapped and split open with blood threatening to ooze out, a habit he has of biting them whenever he is anxious. With trembling purple and red bruised fingers, he manages to pick out his pack of Marlboro and zippo lighter, placing a single cigarette on his lips, he brings the zippo to the end of his cigarette and sparks it on, watching it bring life to it. Not even bothering to cover the cigarette, he continues on his walk towards nowhere in particular.

His eyesight starts to quickly blur, his tears being the cause once again. Sniffling and occasionally coughing, he grips his wet, leather jacket tighter and continues on his lonesome journey, the only company being his wicked thoughts and a bottle of jim beam wrapped in a paper, brown bag he's clutching in a bruised fist.
"Poor mans, Jack Daniels"
His raspy voice knifes the briskly air with a slight of rage when he spoke, as he slowly starts to halt. Realization starts to hit him as he's raising the Jim beam towards his lips.
Not only he notices the liquor can no longer soak his melancholiness, because it's finished, but what can?

Thanks for reading!