Sam found his way into the sensorium-turned-nightclub rather quickly and had made his way over to the bar and was, by now, sitting alone on one of the bar stools with his hand wrapped around a bottle of Sam Adams. While it wasn't getting him drunk--unfortunately--it did still give him a sense of relief, allowing him to basically drink away all the things that plagued his mind.
He didn't want to think the things that he thought. He didn't want to feel the things that he felt. And if sitting in a dark, smoky club and drinking fake beer made him feel better--like he hoped it would--then that was enough for him.
no subject
Sam found his way into the sensorium-turned-nightclub rather quickly and had made his way over to the bar and was, by now, sitting alone on one of the bar stools with his hand wrapped around a bottle of Sam Adams. While it wasn't getting him drunk--unfortunately--it did still give him a sense of relief, allowing him to basically drink away all the things that plagued his mind.
He didn't want to think the things that he thought. He didn't want to feel the things that he felt. And if sitting in a dark, smoky club and drinking fake beer made him feel better--like he hoped it would--then that was enough for him.