The Weight Of Whiskey (Open)

Rainfall slapped against the white skin of my back, drizzling off the marble-like texture, and into the clay mud beneath. There was still an existential amount of alcohol lurking between my veins, poisoning my liver by the moment, millisecond-- I wasn't even aware of the vomit that splattered to the ground, not until I was finished. The hollowness ached my stomach, though I surpassed it without a hint of care, wandering through the deserted streets of our district.
The feeling fraction of myself was grateful that nightfall had abandoned every pathway, leaving me to wander through the downpour, needn't caring to those who saw. The heavy thumping and sloshing of every footstep dragged through the wielding mud, causing a curtain or two to twitch with curiosity-- maybe even fear.
Moonlight shone, highlighting a passage solely for my drunken self. I followed down the cobbled alley, stumbling as I went-- crashing into walls of both brick and concrete. The liquor burned and numbed any sense of pain, resulting in a state of unmoving relief; something I had grown much too accustomed to.
Raising a slouched forearm, my sheltered eyes of bottomless black found the destination I longed for-- already tasting the whiskey burn, already feeling it's familiar after-effect.
Liquor, my savior. Liquor, my escape.
The building-- glorious with it's overcasting height -- lured me forward, and with staggering movement, I obediently followed. The hob was shadowed in the thrill of the night, no hint of blue left, or dazzling ray of sunshine-- it was as black as black could get. Abandoned and stranded, the black market laid mouthwatering in the heart of the district circle. I knew what was beneath it's walls, I could practically smell it. Whiskey. Strong, potent, liver rupturing whiskey.
The next standing question was, how was I going to get in? Burst down the door? I was strong enough, the muscle that en-wrapped my arms was evident enough of that. Though it wasn't the only option, and the less suffering I had to go through, the better.
The window on the western side of the building hung ajar, and without hesitation, I climbed the ridgy concrete. Swinging one leg through the loose gap, before landing within the innards of the brick building. The familiar scent of poultry and spice hung like an invitation in the air, and without much motivation, I sauntered over to the familiar market-- laden with bottles of fine liquor.
Falling into the wooden stand, a bottle of auburn whiskey found my hand. The leftover high from this evenings previous drink had faded, and I was ready for the next guzzle, gulp, and sample of such a savored spirit. Though as the bottle weighed inches from my eagerly parted mouth, a crash came from the north end of the abandoned market.
Withdrawing the knife that perched within my leather belt, it's polished silver glinting in the moonlight. Weaponry was banned within the district, though with thoroughness, I managed to keep it hidden-- not that the peacekeepers would bother themselves with the challenge of getting rid of it, anyway.
The thirst was barely suppressible, though I managed to grunt a warning. "Who's there? Show yourself."