"Bad time?" Rex Murphey says as he pokes his head through the door. His face stands out against the bluish-grey of the wall behind him and the ebony of his shadow behind the window in the office door. His face appears slightly illuminated. It acts like a lighthouse. It begins to burn out all other things in the room due to its radiance. He almost has to squint. He eases his grip on the .45 but not on the bottle.
"Yeah, it is" he says.
"Should I come back?" Rex asks with a twinge of pain in his voice.
"Yeah. Come back tomorrow" the words are almost smoke that billow out of his mouth. He is barely visible from across the room.
"Okay. I'll come back tomorrow then" Rex closes the door and it nearly causes his head to explode from the cacophony it creates. When the violating noise subsides he is left alone.
The rain continues to drum its steady, yet unpredictable beat against the window. Creating black shadows that compete for mediocrity with the whites and grays that occupy the room scape.
"Rex, you asshole" he thinks, "I was just starting to get ready for something good there".
He releases the gun and removes his hand from the top right drawer. The bottle retains its companion. He uses his other hand to pour himself another shot. The tinkle of liquid into glass ever so slightly disrupts the harmony of the room. The brown ever so slightly draws attention to itself in the midst of the forgetful background.
"There, that's better"