Drinking Away the Pain

"Yer hittin' the bottle kinda early," he rasped as he trudged by.

It was the passing judgement of a crusty old maintenance man, his worn Carhart almost as ancient and weathered as his wrinkled face.

"What does he know, anyway?" I asked myself. "It's test week. 'Early.' Like 8 a.m. is early. Besides, it makes studying at this godforsaken hour more bearable," I justified, tipping the bottle back again. "I'll show him early."

My empty Nalgene clattered to the floor.

Thankfully the drinking fountain's only a few feet away.