through radiowaves and cast-iron

You thought you were strong enough to hang out around liquor, and drunk people - the laughter, the dance with another dimension, its impossible physics. You were one year sober, after all. You should be able to handle this. 
Usually, you would stop yourself from staring. Pry your eyes from the rows of multicoloured bottles. Potions. A different shade of personality in each glass. Engineered ingredients with their own auras, you remember how vodka takes your face away, the rum is quicksand, but you always loved the-
"You were one year sober, after all." 


you grind your teeth because you scream in your sleep but your waking mask is stronger