Jameson wearily lifted his fingers from the keyboard. Leaning back, he stretched. Sitting hunched over a keyboard, for hours on end, always caused his back to ache. He rotated his aching shoulders and neck, which had become stiff, from being held in more or less the same position for so long.

Pouring himself a small amount of cheap whiskey into the dirty glass that sat by the monitor, he held the bottle up, moving it to where he could see the single, bare bulb, hanging from the ceiling, through the glass sides of the bottle.

He gazed morosely at the tiny bit of liquor in the bottom of the bottle…not even enough for another shot, really…and no money to get more.

He gave a heavy sigh, as he set the bottle back on the desk, then held the glass up to the light, before taking a swig. His eyes once more fell on that naked bulb, which had begun to sway slightly, from the movement of the people in the apartment above him.

He lifted the glass to his lips, draining it. Then he once more reached for the bottle. Again he held it up to the light, hoping against hope, that it had not really been as empty as he had thought…but, nope, his eyes hadn’t deceived him.

“I really am going to have to do something about getting some better lighting in here.” he thought idly, as he gazed at the tiny amount of the precious elixir that remained in the bottom of the bottle, gleaming a dull amber in the pale light

He looked around his home and sighed, “In fact, I need a whole new change of location. It’s no wonder I can’t create anymore. Ever since Celia kicked me out, and got custody of the kids, it is like the only muse that talks to me now, is the one that is nearly as drunk as I get sometimes, out of despair.”

He gave a hollow laugh, “At least I assume the my muse must have taken up drinking, for the drivel she’s been giving me lately, isn’t fit for anything more than outhouse paper. And if I don’t come up with something soon, the paper is going to fire me, then I really will be in rough shape.”