Glass of Water

A bead of sweat ran down his leg and it felt like little wet bugs. His mind scream to the point where everything else fell silent. His armpits reek like the Bush administration and his beard itch with frustration. The city had become a shit hole of lost dreams and talent. Or had it always been a shit hole? The place was pack with drunks and aggression. He was alone in the crowded room. His thoughts were far from his location. He knew it wasn't his kind of place or people. Maybe it was a lack of trying to fit in, but people avoided talking to him. He stood there for what felt like a life time before he left... Then, he was gone...