This is the 45th installment of a 100-day challenge to write a new vignette every morning.
He went on a whiskey diet and immediately lost three days. Tuesday found him spooning a hydrangea bush in his neighbor’s backyard, and he woke as Fido’s drool plopped down on his forehead.
Swatting at it, Greg rolled over. “Bad dog.” He spat out a clump of dirt and leaves. “Bad dog.”
Technically the Rottweiler’s tag said “George,” but Greg thought that was a stupid name for a dog—and far too close to “Greg”—so he privately called the beast “Fido.” The dog flopped onto his back, a toy hot dog sticking out of his mouth like a cigar.
As the fog cleared, Greg embarked on a journey to retrace his steps. Friday night, he’d joined a few friends at Laura’s house and—Laura.
Laura had raved about some new cleanse consisting of three days of just water and whiskey. She’d insisted it was just like any other liquid diet, except the whiskey helped “boost the metabolism.” He’d partaken in the whiskey component that night to humor Laura—and truthfully, he hadn’t been able to tell whether she was joking.
Technically, he’d completed the cleanse—but he didn’t feel any healthier.
Miles Away 