It's just a countdown

Can't see a future. It's as if every second, good or bad, is just leading up to me giving up.

A Glass of Wine

The smell of clay, a starry sky and his favourite bottle of Bordeaux.

He taps gently on the dusty glass, creating a slow and repetitive melody; a motion soothing the jitterings travelling in his bloodstream. Looking upwards causes him to chuckle momentarily, his head shaking in disbelief, though with a smile he finishes the remaining of the red wine. A comfortable woven blanket is spread out on the cool ground, and as the rain begins to fall, he puts aside his glass and lays down, curling up while clutching to his denim jacket.
Soon after; the wet dirt is covering most of him, leaving only part of his jacket visible aswell as his few belongings, but in the morning the ground appears to have repaired itself and he's finally gone.