A single, constant tone, so high in frequency that I wonder if it can be considered a note to the common ear. No, it is not the neighboring chimes. It is the sound of alcohol. Liquid fire that burns so cold against the throat that a man struggles not to cough. To cough would be a show of weakness. That is why you exhale after swallowing – to avoid breathing the vapors of your preferred poison. Then, after time has passed, the punch is thrown and you reel from the impact.

It can only be heard between pauses in conversation, the silences of a deserted, post-midnight living room, when the only light comes from a fluorescent kitchen. Even then it may originate from the delusions of one who desires a numbing of life.

It is a sound unavoidable. Constant. Escape is impossible. It resides in your skull, resonating in your bones. The purest, impossible tone in existence. Teeth-numbingly present. It disregards motion and thought, balances on nothing.

It is the only constant in the perception of a drunkard.