His Bladder

as reply to at life's end

It became a sort of test. If he could get through these he'd be alright. He wouldn't be that old he thought. If he could get through these there would still be life in him. 

But the cans were hard. The first one was good, but the second hard. The beer had warmed he thought. A more metallic taste came through, and he was belching a little. He wasn't used to drinking this much on an empty stomach, and he was tired because he already had got up twice to pee.

When he was younger, he could get through a six pack easy on a passing afternoon. He loved it sometimes, he remembered back when he lived in the house with his friends. They'd drink tall boys while make dinner. Easily cruising through 4 or 6 by the night. Later they'd go out just down the road. 

His friends always brash enough to drink a roadie, he was always too scared, every car could have been a cop. 

Now he was sitting in his kitchen. The beers were smaller, the same brand, but different. There was something off. His age or something he couldn't tell. He got up again the urge to pee radiated from his bladder.
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