Shut From a Silent Gun

Three shots of whisky, he was in a hurry; sooner than expected the crowded bar took off, rocketing blindly into a dark planet. Outside, the evening was smeared with red sky, a bleeding light hung like a punctured lung. Back home he dabbed his damp eyes, waiting, his mind wandering thoughtless inside a humming keyboard. After a long inert silence he took a 'cold one' out of the fridge - flipped himself off.