David went home that day on foot. When he finally arrived, he felt like the bones in his legs had turned to mush. He couldn't even take a step without feeling horrible pain, so he just slept the whole afternoon.
He woke to a knock on the door.
He opened it to reveal his neighbor—Denis, the construction worker from next door.
"Let's grab a drink," the man suggested.
David shook his head. "I don't think it's—"
"It's on me," Denis interrupted.
That changed things.
Thirty minutes later, David found himself at the closest bar to their area, listening to men so drunk they were making jokes about the weather and laughing hysterically at their own humor.
"So, how's it been?" Denis asked, returning with two cups of whiskey in hand.
"Rough," David replied, taking the drink from him. He stared at it for a moment before looking back at Denis. "It's not Iceberg, is it?"
He squinted suspiciously.
Denis grinned. "Of course it is. That's what real men drink."
David gave him a pointed stare. "You know what happened the last time I drank this, right?"
"Yeah, yeah. You started the biggest bar fight of the year. Damn, I should have brought a camera," Denis said with a shake of his head.
"Look, I don't care if you call me a sissy. I'm not drinking this. The hangover I got from it lasted three days." David placed the cup back on the table.
They sat in silence for a while.
Then David suddenly clicked his tongue and downed the whole thing.
"Easy, tiger. That stuff is a hundred percent alcohol," Denis said, chugging his own.
"Hey, waiter! Bring a whole bottle!" he called out.
David laid his head on the table, deep in thought.
"You lost a job again?" Denis asked.
"Not a job. I lost all of them. Both of them, actually," David replied with a dry laugh.
"Don't beat yourself up too much about it. That's the thing with life—constantly stomping you down to your lowest." Denis stared at his glass, swirling the drink inside before downing it. "It only gets harder, to tell you the truth."
David chuckled. "Way to go with the motivation. Now I'm all pumped."
Denis poured for both of them from the bottle. "Look, I'm telling you this so you won't make the same mistake everyone makes. The more optimistic you get, the more it hurts when reality shows up."
David sighed, then began swirling his cup listlessly.
"I won't advise you to give up," Denis continued. "That's the worst thing you can do. Some people are born with all the luck. It doesn't matter what path of life they come into—rich or poor, an iron, silver, gold, or platinum spoon in their mouth—they always get it all. They don't need to work as hard as everyone else. Opportunities always find them. They always get it so easy."
He paused to take another drink.
"Then there are those born with just enough luck to get by. They suffer a lot—like, a whole lot—but eventually it works out. Their hard work pays off."
His voice grew quieter.
"But then there are those born with nothing. It doesn't matter how hard they work. It doesn't matter how talented they are. They will always, always, find themselves right where they started. The lowest point in life."
Denis chuckled, though it didn't sound genuine.
"But like I said, the worst thing you could do if you're one of those—is give up. Life will always find a way. Oh, it'll go through all sorts of ways to break you. No matter what plans you cook up, how good they are, you'll always be met with disappointment. But if you keep fighting, if you keep going against that current, there's a chance you could break through."
He looked directly at David.
"But it definitely won't be easy. People like that—they never make it through the orthodox way. They aren't normal to begin with. So the only way they break the mold is when they create their own path. Deviate from the norms."
David looked up. "Why are you telling me this?"
"To be honest? I realized you're at the lower end of the stick. The way you're going, you're now at the most critical point in your life. Right now, the decision you make will shape your future from here on out."
Denis refilled his glass.
"I reached this point as well. But I made the wrong choices. I went with the flow. I followed the norms. Did what everyone considered normal. What I didn't realize was—I wasn't everyone. I was Denis. A blockhead who couldn't learn shit even if his life depended on it."
He laughed bitterly.
"But I still tried to become what I could never be. I tried to become a doctor. Get a degree. I read like crazy. But from the outset, I knew I didn't have what it took. There was another path I could have taken, yet I didn't. I don't know who I was trying to impress. But now, here I am. A failure."
"You're not a failure," David countered. "You're just not in a good place right now."
Denis smiled sadly. "Look, kid. Forget what anyone would say. Forget how bleak what you really want to do may seem compared to the norms. At the end of the day, we only get one life."
He raised his glass.
"Do what your gut tells you. It never lies."
David stared at his neighbor for a long moment, then raised his own glass.
They drank in silence, two men at different stages of the same struggle, finding brief solidarity in shared failure and cheap whiskey.