Shot And A Chaser

The energy in the room buzzed around me, the familiar scent of alcohol and anticipation hanging in the air. “Good Morning Bushwick” was back, and I could feel the pull of my hometown, Bushwick, Brooklyn, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. After each broadcast, Danny, Zo, and I would settle down at the bar, sharing a shot and a beer to commemorate our hard work. It was a ritual, one that I had grown to crave. As I sat there, the cold metal of the barstool pressing against my thighs, I couldn’t help but feel a wave of disappointment wash over me. My reflection in the polished wood seemed distorted, a twisted version of the man I was trying to be. The constant desire to consume alcohol was like a persistent itch that I couldn’t scratch, no matter how hard I tried. Since the birth of my daughter, I had managed to keep my drinking in check, limiting myself as best I could to a few drinks at home. But with my dreams of global domination once again at the forefront of my mind, it seemed as though the worst of Roach was starting to make its way back into my life. I scrolled through my phone, scrolling past various apps that promised a free shot or a discounted drink with every check-in. It was like a game to me, a way to fuel my addiction while still feeling like I was getting a good deal. But the reality was that I was slowly spiraling out of control again, and I knew it. I knew I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be drinking. But the allure of the bar, the familiar faces, and the comforting routine was too much to resist. I took another sip of my beer, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spreading through my body. I was disappointed in myself, knowing that I was slipping further back into old habits. But at the same time, I couldn’t help but feel powerless against the pull of the bottle. I was King Roach, after all, a man on a mission to conquer the world. And yet, here I was, struggling to conquer my own demons.