Some people have all the luck

Please tell me the apocalypse is coming.  First it was the books, then it was the mosque, and now the library burned down. 

I, on the other hand, fall asleep covered in high proof alcohol with a lit cigarette and what do I get when I wake up? Nothing but a hangover.  The world is burning down around me yet I'm somehow in some sorta ring of safety.  And the sad part is, nothings gonna change around here.  Not too many people around here believe in Allah (or any god for that matter, why would they?) and I'm pretty sure most of the people in this town can't even fucking read.  I just wish that librarian lady knew how jealous I am of her...

People have their stories to tell for now about the book burning and the lightning strike and the librarian's death, but it'll all fade.  The customers have even stopped bringing it up, or maybe due to my obvious spiral into the the depths of alcoholism they've just stopped talking.  Either way, life isn't changing for me one bit.  The winters gonna pass soon and I'll be drunk, then it's gonna come back around and I'll either be dead (knock on wood) or, you guessed it, drunk. 

I did take a walk down there though, down to the library.  In a way it was beautiful.  It was one big present to this town with a "CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS" bow.  It's the only part of this town that's clean, sterilized by the heat and flames.  And with all the words printed in those books, floating around in scraps and pieces now.  All of the individual letters that compose them that are now covered in ash.  I know that those letters compose all of the answers to all of my questions.  Somewhere in the burned down remains of the library is the meaning of life, the directions to the woman I'd be madly in love with, and the time and date of my death.  So I stare at the rubble in all of it's glory, and then I think of the librarian.  Now's she in there, with all the knowledge of the universe.  She's surrounded, without room to breathe, by the infinite possibilities of the 26 letters of our alphabet, and she's dead.

It took a bottle of whiskey to swallow that moment.  I bought the cheapest bottle I could find and walked it home across the street.  I crawled upstairs and into bed and as I was lighting my cigarette, one tear rolled down my nose and put it out.  I set the cigarette down and went to bed.

It's hard for me to function anymore as a butcher.  Using sharp knives with the shakes is a bad idea, using them drunk might be even worse.  This has led to a decline in business which has led to be being behind on bills.  As a result I'm gonna lose my internet, and I won't exactly be able to go to the library to use it after this.  So this is my farewell.  I'll either turn my life around and get back on one day, or I'll continue down the pathetic path of my life until the day that I graciously accept the chilling arms of death.  Either way, you'll never truly hear from me again, if anyone is even reading this in the first place.