Something I wrote while drunk on vacation / Roscoe Q. Highball

I leaned back in the wicker patio chair and allowed the gin to take its hold.  A lit cigarette dangled between my fingers.  I watched it glow bright with each drunk breath and it occurred to me that although brainless and inanimate, it remained the only proof that I was still alive on this godforsaken island.  Ocean waves crashed in the distance, reminding me that I was in paradise.