Stop! he screamed, grabbed the glass and threw it away with his right hand so he poured the remained ouzo. Inside he was burning and was feeling ashamed.
“Coward, unmanly, wimp” there were some of the words that someone told him and in a meaning, there were all wrong but at the same time, they fitted to him. A storm was harvesting his stomach. It made him sickened every sip that he drank. The time limits were tightening, his choices were depleting in every clock’s pointer beat.
Νo other choices! He leaned his head slowly in the wooden table so he could mix his tears with the split alcohol- so he would never admit anything- to stop feeling anything.