[ EU ] October 22 , 2077 , describe the final moments as a civilian in Washington D.C. or on the West coast

The radio croons softly, something about setting the world on fire. I lean back in my chair and sip my glass of scotch. The newspapers spread across my desk blare all sorts of happy news. One of them declares the war with China's about to end. Another has an article about how the future is bright here in the Columbia Commonwealth, and in the US as a whole. 
 
 The radio switches to another song. Something about a mighty, mighty man. I grin to myself. America thought it was a mighty, mighty man once. We took on China. We took over Canada. We thumbed our nose at the world and dared them to defy us. And now look where it's gotten us. 
 
 I take another gulp of scotch. The streets are quiet. The world ran out of oil a long time ago, and only the richest can afford the fusion-powered cars on sale these days. Fusion. Nuclear power. Seems like that's on everybody's mind these days. Everyone knows this is all going to end in tears, end in nuclear fire. Everyone knows. No one says so out loud, of course. Would n't do to have the government hear you. One of those walking tanks might come knock on your door. One of those men in that big metal armor. 
 
 I finish the rest of my glass, then pour another one. Maybe I'll end up finishing this bottle tonight. I should probably go buy another one. Or maybe I'll get one in the morning. It'll be Saturday tomorrow. No work tomorrow. I can stay home drinking all day if I wanted to. Lots of shortages these days, but there's no shortage of booze. Scotch, whiskey, beer, vodka, hell even wine if you're the fancy type. 
 
 I wonder if they have booze in those vaults. I do n't know how many vaults they built in the DC area, but apparently not enough, because I did n't get into one. Put my name down on a waiting list, but I'm not optimistic about my chances. Still, though... if there's a chance I can make it into one of those vaults and survive all this, well I need to take it. Staying out here when the bombs come will be a death sentence. Or worse. 
 
 I down my glass of scotch in one gulp. The thought of dying in the bombing scares me. The thought of not dying scares me more. Imagine being out here, alive among the devastation, engulfed in heat and radiation. Imagine knowing that your life is now over, that you're already dead, you just have n't stopped breathing yet. 
 
 I try to pour another glass, but the bottle is empty. I toss it in the trash, then stumble to bed. I'll get another bottle tomorrow. It'll help me relax. No doubt I'll feel better, more optimistic, in the morning. Just need to get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a better day.
